


but the absolute luck is, love is in our hearts

by emilybrontay



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Babies, F/M, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:07:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4759319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilybrontay/pseuds/emilybrontay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a lot of universes out there, and in some of them, Amy and Jake have babies, not with each other. <br/>Title from Absolute Beginners by The Jam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I promised Lucy I'd write her an Amy/Jake AU for every single one of these http://dumhaz.tumblr.com/post/118288098594/how-about-them-single-parent-aus   
> So basically these all exist in separate universes but the names of the kids remain the same. Also, I don't have kids or know much about baby development and the like, so this is probably all wrong.

**AMY AND MAX**

> imon the bus and my two year old won't stop crying except you just smiled at them and they did

Max is wailing. He’s two, so this is pretty normal behaviour according to the sixty three parenting guides Amy read when she was pregnant. It’s because his vocabulary isn’t as advanced as his thoughts yet, and that makes him very frustrated. She’s trying to be understanding about it, and not tell herself that it’s her own fault because she didn’t use long enough words when talking to him when he was a baby, or that she didn’t talk to him enough in the womb or – she’s just, she’s trying to be understanding. She coos and coaxes and shushes as they walk down to the bus stop, but he’s not having any of it. He cries and he cries and he cries, and he keeps trying to get away from her (which makes her feel _terrible_ because oh God, what if it’s not just the terrible twos and she really is the worst mother on Earth?) so she straps him into the stroller (the six months of police academy training she had before she got pregnant serves her well when it comes to dealing with a kicking toddler) and gets on the first bus that comes along. The bus driver is the kind of grumpy old man who tuts at her lack of a wedding ring, which pisses Amy off because she highly doubts _they_ would’ve married Jesse if they’d been in her shoes. She doesn’t want to get thrown off the bus though, so she apologises and says “it’s the terrible twos, you know?” a lot, and the bus driver just grunts and gives her the change. And then she has to heave the stroller down past the luggage rack to the priority seats and it’s a _nightmare_. It makes Max cry even more, and a woman sat across from the space for the stroller tuts loudly. At least, she thinks, the priority seats aren’t being taken up by greasy teenage boys who smell of pot and refuse to move. She collapses onto the seat as the bus makes a sharp turn, and takes Max’s small hand in hers.

“What’s all the noise about, huh?” she asks in a sing-song voice she learnt from her grandmother, “Are you okay?”

And then a miracle occurs. Max’s scrunched up little face smooths, and he begins to giggle. Amy is firstly grateful – a laughing baby is _so much better_ than a crying baby – and then confused.

“What is it, baby?” she says, “What’s so funny? Have I got something on my face?” There is a high chance that she has a streak of pureed carrot streaked across her cheek, but she doubts Max’s sense of humour is at the stage where he would find that funny. He giggles again and honestly, it is Amy’s favourite sound in the whole world. She kisses his chubby fist, and turns her head to follow his gaze, which is fixed over her shoulder.

Behind her, is sat a man wearing a leather jacket and who has the most cartoon-character face she has ever seen. Or at least, he is pulling a cartoon character face, apparently for the benefit of her son. His eyes are crossed and his tongue is hanging out of his wide mouth, and before he notices she’s looking, the image changes, and his whole faces scrunches up. Max hiccups with laughter. Amy clears her throat, although a part of her is concerned that if this guy stops pulling dumb faces, Max will start crying again. But equally, you can’t express gratitude to a man whose eyes are popping out of his head. The dude notices her, clears his own throat, and lets his features fall back to their normal place. He is, she thinks with a jolt, kind of good looking. She hasn’t thought that about anyone for a super, super long time. He has very kind eyes, which meet hers expectantly.

“Thanks,” she says, trying to load the word with as much sincerity as possible. The woman who tutted when she got on the bus makes a _harrumph_ noise and Amy fights the urge to flip her off ( _I am a_ terrible _role model for my son,_ she thinks).

“For what?” the man says, crooked smiling at her, “My face just naturally falls like that.”

She snorts.

“I’m serious,” the dude continues, “I got incredibly unlucky when the wind changed once. It is taking a _Hercules_ effort to keep my face like this.”

“Herculean,” she corrects, and then kicks herself for being a killjoy ( _Jesse once said that was what he hated most about her)_. He, this kind eyed man, doesn’t seem to mind though.

“Gesundheit,” he says, and she snorts again.

“Thanks,” she repeats, and he shrugs.

“It’s no big deal. I decided long ago to use my elastic face for good, not evil.”

She laughs again. When was the last time she laughed more than once in a conversation? It must’ve been years ago.

“This is Max,” she gestures at the stroller, and the man stretches out his hand to shake Max’s sticky first.

“Nice to be formally introduced to you, Max – short for Maxwell?”

“Nope, just Max.”

“A solid name – anyway, Max, I’m Jake. Short for Jacob.”

“A solid name,” she echoes, and it is almost embarrassing how she is fighting a grin. _Come on Amy! This dude could be a serial killer!_

He is still shaking Max’s hand, and Max is still giggling, and Jake’s smile is so kind, that Amy thinks it’s not _possible_ for this dude to be a serial killer. Nobody who can pull those faces can murder multiple times. Amy pauses for a moment. Jake is now tickling Max’s stomach.

“Are you a serial killer?” she asks finally. He snorts.

“Nope.”

“Sounds like something a serial killer would say.”

“Damn. You got me there.”

He glances at her, and scrunches up his nose. “You gonna put me under a citizen’s arrest?”

“Oh yeah, I’d love to get you in handcuffs,” she says offhandedly, and then realises what she’s said. Her immediate instinct is to clasp her hands over Max’s ears, which makes Jake cackle with laughter.

“Only after dinner and a movie,” he says. “And,” there is a nervousness to his tone that makes Amy smile, “after you tell me your name.”

“I’m Amy,” she supplies, and sticks out her hand to shake his. The tutting woman sat across from them snorts loudly. Amy ignores her.

“So,” she says, “dinner and a movie?”

From his stroller, Max laughs.


	2. Chapter 2

**JAKE AND CJ**

> you crouched down to coo at my baby but i forgot to tell you their favourite thing to do is to play with people's hair and now they won't let go of you

When Gina Linetti first met Crash Jacintha (CJ for short, because “ _God, Jake, do you want to scar her for life more than you already have, giving her a name like ‘Crash’, no wonder Bernice left you_ ”) Peralta, when the latter was just two months old, she had a lock of her treasured, regularly nourished hair, ripped from her head by the chubby fist of a new born baby.

“She can barely hold her own head up!” Gina wailed, “How could she do this?”

“She doesn’t know her own strength,” Jake cooed, “how cute is that?”

“No! It is not cute! My hair is my source of power, Jake!”

But Jake, enamoured with his daughter, ignored his oldest friend’s cries, and began to sing an old Taylor Swift song under his breath.

 

As CJ gets older, this does not change. When presented with shiny hair, she will pull as hard as she can, and old school Taylor Swift warbled by her besotted father is the most soothing thing in the world for her.

 

When she’s eleven months old, they’re at Gina’s for a barbecue, and Jake sees the prettiest girl he’s ever seen in his life. She’s stood next to the grill clutching a glass of wine and muttering to Rosa Diaz, who Jake was in the academy with and who was also the first person he called when he found out Bernice was pregnant. He wonders how he’s never seen her before. She’s wearing a red dress that looks like it’s super soft, and she – oh, God, she’s got this beautiful mane of dark hair and if CJ scalps her, he’s going to ground her until she’s thirty.

He crouches down to speak to his daughter at her eye level.

“Listen here, Crash Jacintha,” he says, mock-sternly, and she giggles, “do _not_ ruin this for us.”

She pats his cheek with a sticky hand and _God_ , how could Bernice _leave this_?

He stands, takes a deep breath and then splutters, because the most beautiful girl in the world and Rosa are approaching him.

“Sup,” he says, trying to play it cool. He leans on the handle of the stroller, and it gives way under his weight. He half falls, and Rosa sticks her foot out to stop it.

“Classy, Jake,” she says drily, “It’s a wonder CJ’s still alive.”

“Actually, this is one of the other babies I got from a fumble in the back of my car, I mislaid CJ a few days ago, _hi_ ,” he stretches out his hand to shake the most beautiful girl in the world’s, “Jake Peralta. Excellent single father.”

“He’s kidding about mislaying his baby.” Rosa tells her, deadpan. The most beautiful girl in the world nods, like she’s beginning to understand.

“This is Amy. I work with her. I’m going to get a drink.”

Jake hopes Rosa is up to what he thinks she’s up to, but she’s so hard to read. She could hate Amy’s company, and is trying to fob her off with him! But the voice in the back of his mind that sounds like his mother tells him not to be ridiculous, and so he nods at Rosa and turns his full attention to the most beautiful girl in the world.

“You’re a cop?”

A smile breaks out over Amy’ _s_ face. She nods, and tucks her hair behind her ear.

“Mmhmm, yeah, I just made detective!”

“Oh yeah? Congrats!” he grins at her, his best, most charming grin, “I trained, but uh – this one,” he gestures to CJ, who is holding her own feet and gazing up at them in wonder, “kinda put the kibosh on all that. I’m not complaining though.”

“I’ll bet you’re not,” Amy says, beaming and bending down to CJ, placing her glass of wine on the ground beside her, “she’s beautiful.”

Jake looks to the sky and prays that CJ keeps her fists to herself.

“Hi,” Amy coos, in the voice that people use when they talk to babies but they haven’t talked to babies in a while, “aren’t you gorgeous? I love your overalls!”

 _I love your overalls_. What a line.

She grins up at Jake. “I’m a little out of practise,” she admits, “four out of my seven brothers have kids, but they’re all past the cute overall stage, y’know? The youngest is eight.”

“You’ve got _seven brothers_?”

“Yeah, it was hell,” she deadpans, and then puts the baby voice on again, “have you got any brothers, beautiful CJ?”

Jake cannot help himself, and in his best actual-baby voice, says “Nope, it’s just me and my super cool daddy-o.”

Amy snorts. “And what about your super cool _mommy-o_ , CJ?”

“She left,” Jake says, in the same voice because he can’t stop himself doing it, _God, shut up Peralta_ , “She didn’t think she was up to it. But it’s okay because she emails sometimes and I’ve got my dad, and he loves me enough for two whole parents!”

Amy looks up at Jake, squinting in the summer sunlight. “I’ll bet he does,” she says, not to CJ. Jake swears he feels the earth move, which is stupid because that stuff’s reserved for _mind blowing sex_ and basketball games, not glances through eyelashes and fake baby voices.

It is at this moment that the hair puller in Crash Jacintha Peralta awakens and she grabs a fistful of Amy’s hair.

Amy squawks, and tries to pull away which is like, the worst thing to do in Jake’s experience, because then CJ thinks it’s a _game_ , How Long Can You Hold On To The Hair? Can You Rip It Out?

“Ooh no, no, no, no, CJ,” he falls to his knees next to Amy, and tries to disentangle her hair from his daughter’s hand, “CJ, no – God, I’m so sorry, Amy-”

“It’s fine!” Amy yelps in a way that suggests it’s not at all.

“No, no, I should’ve warned you, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why she does it, I’m so-”

“Honestly,” Amy squeaks as CJ grasps at her hair with the other hand, “it’s fine!”

“CJ! Let the nice lady go! CJ! C’mon!”

At this point, Jake becomes aware that Gina is filming this incident, and is cackling.

“C’mon, Gina! Not cool!”

Gina chuckles darkly. “You were right,” she says, “it is cute!”

Jake thinks this whole barbecue was an elaborate plan executed by Gina to avenge the lock of hair she lost to CJ’s iron grip.

“Crash Jacintha Peralta!” he says sternly, “let Amy _go_!”

CJ gurgles joyfully and doesn’t obey him, but Amy stops panicking, and begins to laugh.

“This is ridiculous!”

“Hey, Crash is beautiful name!”

“No,” she shakes her head, gasping for air between laughter, “no, no, I think it’s a beautiful name – this! Is ridiculous!”

He realises she’s talking about the situation, and begins to laugh too. It _is_ ridiculous. And it is whilst he is also laughing that he notices that Amy is clutching her stomach with her hands, and an idea forms in his mind. He didn’t nearly almost become a cop for nothing. He leans over Amy, which elicits a surprised “oh!” from her, and tickles his daughter’s stomach. His hypothesis is proven correct when CJ releases Amy immediately, clutching her face with her hands. Jake thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard, Amy and CJ laughing in unison.

Amy sobers up almost immediately, and sits up straight, smoothing down her hair. Jake worries he’s blown it, he’s blown it with the most beautiful girl in the world.

“I’m so sorry,” he says seriously, “how can I – how can I make it up to you? I’m so-”

Amy gets to her feet, and brushes grass off her dress.

“You could get me another drink?” she suggests, gesturing to the spilt glass that must’ve been knocked over in the ruckus. And then she beams at him.

He turns to CJ. “High five,” he whispers, and bumps their hands together, “That was more like respect but okay, we’ll work on that. Thanks, boo. You didn’t blow it at all. You did great.”


	3. Chapter 3

**AMY AND MIA**

> **"** i'm so sorry that my child pointed out how your shirt - actually nevermind i agree, that shirt is horrendous"

 

Jake has just had a serious contender for the worst date of his life. Her name was Tonya and she danced in Gina’s troupe, and she laughed at the end of every sentence, even if it wasn’t a joke. Although, he thinks as he runs down the steps to the subway, it’s not as bad as the time Charles set him up with a girl from his cooking class. He was picking hoof out of his teeth for _weeks_ after that.

When he reaches the platform, the train’s pulling away, and he kicks himself. All he actually wants to do is fall asleep watching _Die Hard_ with a bottle of beer in his hand, and instead he’s avoiding making eye contact with the man stood next to him, who is so hairy that Jake thinks there may be a possibility he’s a werewolf. He shoves his hands in his pockets, and leans back against the pillar, trying to think of a polite way to tell Gina ‘thanks-but-no-thanks’ about any possible future dates with Floorgasm dancers.

He feels a gentle tug at the hem of his shirt, and looks down to see a very tiny girl with large, pink rimmed glasses and tightly tied braids blinking up at him.

“Excuse me sir,” she says primly, “your shirt is hurting my eyes.”

He’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt, which Rosa once threatened to burn, and it is a shirt that he has worn on _many_ dates and has, although he will not say this to the little girl, but it has gotten him laid a _ton of times_.

The girl is staring at him expectantly, and he’s not entirely sure how to reply. “It’s very ugly,” she says, as if to prompt a response. She doesn’t get one though, because a second later, a woman he assumes to be her mother flies in, grabbing her hand from where it is still clutching the bottom of Jake’s shirt and cries “ _Mia! That is so rude!”_

Mia opens her mouth to protest, and the woman turns to Jake. She’s like, super beautiful and makes his heart hammer double-time. “I’m so sorry,” she says, “I cannot apologise enough for – oh,” she blinks, tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear, “that is – that shirt is disgusting.”

“ _Mom!_ ” Mia hisses, and Jake is so taken aback by the whole situation that all he can do it put on a stupid fake The Godfather voice and say, “Yeah? Well, the ladies love it.”

To his amusement, Mia rolls her eyes. Her mother snorts, and says “Yeah? Well, you need to find some classier ladies to hang out with.”

He wants to say “like you?” but the train pulls in and Mia’s mother hurries up the platform, her daughter half running to keep up with her. For what feels like the gazillionth time that night, Jake wants to kick himself.

 

He thinks about Ugly Shirt Lady and her tiny earnest daughter the entire ride home, dreams of palm trees being shaken violently, and he thinks about them on the way to work too. When Gina asks him about Tonya, he says “who?”

 

Rosa sets him up on his next date a week later ( _and he totally hasn’t been looking out for the woman on every train he gets on, hasn’t been craning his neck down the carriage looking for shiny dark hair and big pink glasses_ ), and it’s a disaster. Her name is Alice and she bursts into tears between the starter and the main and ups and leaves between main and dessert. Jake has to pay the bill, and he can feel his bank manager wincing as he hands the waiter his credit card.

He’s three stops from home on the train, staring at his fancy date shoes and wondering if he really is going to die alone like Gina’s psychic said, when he hears a laugh. This isn’t an abnormal thing for the subway, but this laugh sounds achingly familiar and also like it is directed at him. He glances up, and Gina’s psychic can go screw herself, because sat across from him is Mia’s mother. Mia is curled up on the seat next to her, glasses askew and sleeping.

“You have _two of those things_?” she asks, laugh still in her voice.

He shrugs. “They were on sale. And I’ll have you know these shirts are _very_ popular with the ladies.”

“Which is why you’re heading home from a date on your own, right?”

 _Damn_. “How’d you know I was on a date?” he challenges, and she laughs again.

“Fancy shoes, it’s past nine, and no one wears those shirts to work unless they work in a tacky Hawaiian food place, and no one wears shoes that fancy to work in a tacky restaurant.”

 _Damn_.

“So,” she presses, “how’d it go?”

“Terribly,” he tells her, and she pulls a sympathetic face.

“Been there,” she says, “last guy I went out with threw up in the bread basket.” She pauses, wrinkles her nose, “It was wicker too.”

He cackles at that. “God, that’s gross!”

“So gross,” she nods, “So what happened with you?”

“She burst into tears and ran out.”

“Yikes. What did you _say_?”

“Why d’you think it was something _I_ said?!”

“Well it must’ve been _something_!”

She’s laughing though, so he knows she doesn’t really think he made his date cry.

“Maybe she’s just going through some stuff,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. Mia’s head falls onto her shoulder as they pull to a stop, and the domesticity of the image causes Jake’s heart to ache.

“Maybe,” he echoes. An elderly woman gets off the train, leaving a space next to the woman he’s got to stop referring to as ‘Mia’s mother’. She notices his eyes on the space, and nods.

“It’s two stops…” he begins, but she raises her eyebrows in a way that says he hasn’t really got any choice.

“I’m Amy,” she says as he sits beside her.

“Jake,” he shakes her hand.

“That’s Mia,” she gestures to the child sleeping beside her, “She’s my daughter.”

“I guessed,” he nods, pauses. “Where’s her dad?”

Amy exhales through her nose solidly, a sigh. “Upstate. His name’s Teddy.”

“Right.”

“That shirt really is very ugly.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I’ll take you shopping some time,” she says.

“I’d like that.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sort of breaking my own rules for this one, because this is a part two of the previous chapter. Because Lucy was like "WRITE THEIR DATE" and then I realised I could combine it with one of the other prompts, and then it became this. It's not very long, and I probably could do more with the fake married thing but...yeah. Also, Great Aunt Ruth is based on my own Great Aunt Em, God rest her soul, except she used to yell PROPER JOB all the time, and that's a very Cornish phrase so I couldn't use it in this fic.

**AMY, JAKE AND MIA**

> “you asked me to the store with you and your child, and now my distant relative we met thinks im married with a baby”

He’s never been shopping on a date before. Is this a date? He doesn’t think it’s a date. They’re going to Target. What a great story that would make – “hey dad where did you take Mom on your first date?” “We went to Target, isn’t that romantic?” They’re going to Target with her seven year old, and it’s not a date except for the fact he _feels_ like it’s a date.

Amy is the most thorough shopper he’s ever met. She leaves no rail unchecked, every item of clothing is considered. He’s only ever been shopping with Gina before, and whilst she always has a plan (they tend to involve a lot of velour, and three hours trying on hats), it was nowhere near as structured as Amy’s.

“One black shirt,” Mia, clutching the notepad Amy has written her shopping list on, reads aloud, “plain.”

“A wardrobe staple,” Amy notes, “Also, excellent pronunciation, Mia.”

Amy, Jake has swiftly realised, is a huge nerd. And naturally, seeing as she’s been raised solely by Amy, so is Mia. Jake kind of wants to spend the rest of his life with them.

“Thanks Mom. Can I go and look at the shoes now?”

“Yes, take Jake with you.”

“I thought we were buying me shirts?” he asks, and Amy nods briskly.

“Mmhmm, and Mia school shoes and me sweaters-”

“Amy, it’s August.”

“It’s pre-September,” she pauses, arms full of identical black blouses, “Don’t you just love New York in the fall? It makes me want to buy school supplies.”

“Jake!” Mia calls from the stand of shoes, black leather plimsolls in hand, “A little help please?”

Jake isn’t sure what kind of shoes a second-grader needs, but that doesn’t seem to matter, because Mia has her school dress code memorised. She needs help doing the buckles.

“I’ve got butterfingers, my uncle Danny says.”

“Gross, aren’t your hands all slimy?”

Mia laughs. “No, silly, not _actual_ butterfingers! I’m clumsy!”

She’s so small her feet don’t touch the ground when she sits on the stool to try on shoes.

“Too tight?” Jake asks as he pulls the bar across her foot. She shakes her head.

“No, it’s fine, thank you. You know, I really want the trainers that light up when you stomp ‘em, but they’re not allowed in the dress code.”

“Then it’s a dumb dress code,” he says, “those shoes are awesome. I bought some for myself a few weeks ago, in fact.”

She laughs again. “But you’re a grown up!”

“Grown-ups can have light up shoes, Mia!” he insists, mock-indignant, “Try to be a little more open-minded!”

She giggles, and swings her legs, which Jake is pretty sure is the small girl code for _I love these shoes_. He knows that, for himself, when he finds cool shoes, he just has to dance. He’s about to suggest this to her, when an elderly woman’s voice shrilly calls “JACOB!” from the lingerie section.

It’s his mother’s great aunt Ruth, who is somehow still alive despite being _super old_ when Jake was a kid thirty years ago. He hasn’t seen her since he was a teenager, at a wedding or a funeral or something, so he’s surprised she recognises him.

“JACOB PERALTA,” she yells, “COME HERE AND GIVE YOUR AUNT A KISS!”

He has looked at her for too long to pretend he hasn’t seen her, so hurries over to the plus sized panties aisle and allows her to press a wrinkly kiss to his cheek. She points at Mia, who is watching them curiously, over his shoulder and squawks.

“IS THIS YOUR DAUGHTER? THIS MUST BE YOUR DAUGHTER-”

“Well, actually, Aunt Ruth,” he begins, scratching the back of his neck with his hand, but Ruth’s not listening.

“WHAT GRADE ARE YOU IN?” she asks Mia, who has clearly been raised to be as polite as possible, so instead of denying her relation to Jake, answers quietly, “Just going into second, ma’am.”

“SPEAK UP, CHILD,” Ruth shouts, “I’M DEAF IN BOTH EARS.”

“I’m going into second, ma’am!” Mia repeats, enunciating so crisply Jake can hear the _letters_.

“AND WHERE’S YOUR MOTHER?”

“In the women’s section, buying blouses.”

“LOVELY,” she pauses, “YOU’RE VERY BEAUTIFUL. SHE’S VERY BEAUTIFUL, JACOB.”

“Thanks,” Jake says weakly. He’s waiting for her to ask why she wasn’t invited to the wedding. Although, now he thinks about it, if he _had_ married Amy eight years ago, he probably would’ve forgotten to invite her. He probably would’ve forgotten to invite his whole family, actually. Except his mother, and Gina. And he would’ve sent an invite to his dad too, but – let’s not go there, Jake, he thinks, as Amy approaches, arms full of blouses.

“Amy,” he says, “this is my great aunt Ruth-”

“C’MERE,” Ruth pulls Amy into a hug, and Amy is surprised and visibly uncomfortable. He mouths sorry at her and she nods, understanding. Ruth holds her out at arm’s length, examining her.

“YOU HAVE A VERY BEAUTIFUL FAMILY,” she says, “TREASURE THEM.”

And then she pulls her in for another hug. “Uh – okay,” Amy says, “I will.”

“YOU’RE A LUCKY MAN, JACOB,” Ruth yells when she finally lets Amy go ( _Amy almost runs to stand beside Mia and get away from Ruth, and Jake thinks he’s blown it, he’s ruined his chances_ ) “YOUR NANA IS LOOKING DOWN ON YOU, PROUD, I JUST KNOW IT.”

That…actually means a lot, even if it has been prompted by a lie, so Jake thanks her sincerely, and pushes her gently away from Amy and Mia.

“I NEED CREAM FOR MY ANKLES,” she tells him, “I’VE GOT GOUT.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Aunt Ruth, I’ll see you soon, okay? We gotta get back to - y’know, okay, bye now.”

“A BEAUTIFUL FAMILY,” she repeats, and Jake shoves her lightly in the direction of a shelf-stacker, and half-jogs back to the shoe stand.

Amy raises her eyebrows at him, but she’s fighting back a smile.

“So – ice cream?”

Mia’s face lights up, but Amy hands him the list, smirking. “Not so fast, _darling_ ,” she’s making fun of him, of the situation, but it still makes his stomach do backflips, “there’s still fifty two items on that list to get.”

“Of course, _sweetheart_. Sweaters?”

“I’ll lead the way,” Mia says brightly, jumping up, still in her new school shoes.

“Don’t scuff those,” Amy calls.

“She won’t,” Jake replies confidently.

“She’s very careful,” Amy says, “except when it comes to _handling_ things.”

“Butterfingers,” they say at exactly the same time.

Amy laughs, and slips her arm into Jake’s. He thinks he could do this forever.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, okay, I don't know whether this one works or how I feel about it stylistically or whatever, and it got SUPER LONG, so, yeah.

**AMY, JAKE, CJ AND MIA**

> "our children are best friends...yeah"

CJ and Mia have been best-friends-great-friends-never-ever-break-friends since they were _four_. On their first day at kindergarten, they were stood at the opposite ends of the classroom, thumbs in mouths, unwilling to let go of their respective parents’ hands, and their eyes locked, and they just _knew_.

“I like your scrunchie,” CJ said.

“Thanks. I like your light up shoes.”

“Thanks! Do you wanna try them on? How big are your feet?”

Mia looked up at her mother, who was shaking CJ’s dad hand. “Bye Mom,” she said.

Her mother laughed. “Are you gonna be okay?” she asked gently, and Mia nodded.

“You can go now, Dad,” CJ said cheerily, pulling off her shoes.

“So that’s how it is,” he said, ruffling CJ’s hair. She pouted.

“Yes, Dad, that’s how it is!”

Mia watched them curiously. She saw _her_ dad every second Saturday, and he would never _dream_ of ruffling her hair. Not when her mom had put so much effort into the symmetry of the braids. CJ’s dad crouched down and took her hands.

“Play nice,” he told her, “kick ass. You’re great.”

“You said this before we came in here,” she said.

“Repeating things is how you learn stuff, kiddo,” he kissed her forehead as he stood, and offered his hand in a high five. “Secret handshake for the road?”

Their secret handshake involved the dance move ‘big fish little fish cardboard box’ and several high-fives.

“D’you think we should get a secret handshake?” Mia’s mother asked her.

“I think we should definitely brain-storm ideas for one,” she replied. Her mom hugged her.

“I love you. Have fun. And remember, it’s nice to be important but-”

“It’s more important to be nice,” Mia finished.

“You’ll be okay?”

Mia looked over to where CJ stood, shoes in hand.

“I’m gonna be _great!_ ”

And she was.

 

When they’re seven, they sit under Mia’s big wooden kitchen table and paint each other’s nails with bright pink polish CJ swiped from her Aunt Gina.

“My mom’s getting married,” CJ tells Mia.

“I didn’t know you had a mom.”

CJ laughs. “What? Everyone has a mom! Even Voldemort.”

“Yeah, his mom’s an important part of the sixth book, my mom told me. We can’t read it together ‘til I’m older though.”

“ _My_ mom is called _Bernice_ and she’s getting married.”

“Who to?”

“His name’s Alec, I don’t like him very much.” She pauses. “My dad punched him in the face once, when I was a baby.”

“Wow. Your dad’s so cool.”

“Right? Anyway, I can take someone to the wedding because it’s no-kids-allowed-except-me and my mom thinks I’ll be bored, so do you wanna come? And can you bring your mom, my dad asked.”

“I’ve never been to a wedding before,” Mia chews her bottom lip, a nervous tic she developed after she gave up sucking her thumb when she left kindergarten (“ _babies suck their thumbs, Mom! Babies! They can’t even hold their own heads up!”_ ), “Will it be fancy?”

“Probably. I’ll look after you though.”

“You always do,” Mia nods.

 

At the wedding, Mia and CJ do the Macarena sixteen times, and have sips of CJ’s dad champagne and when Mia’s mom asks CJ’s dad to dance they giggle and giggle and hold their breaths as they watch them twirl away on the dancefloor.

“Your mom looks like a princess,” CJ says in a hushed, reverent tone.

“Your dad looks like a prince,” Mia whispers back.

Both of them feel that they are watching something begin.

 

When they are eight, they watch _The Parent Trap_ , and the thing they felt was beginning a year ago becomes a solid thought.

“Our parents _have_ toget married,” CJ declares, sitting up from where she was sprawled at the bottom of her dad’s bed. Mia nods solemnly.

“Then we’ll be _sisters_.”

“First things first - does your mom like my dad?”

“I think so,” Mia thinks hard about it. Every time she’s with CJ, CJ’s dad is almost always there too, buying them ice cream even though it’s a Thursday, or singing stupid songs that make her mom laugh.

“I think she does. She’s always laughing at him.”

“Good. Now I _know_ my dad likes your mom because my Uncle Charles said so-”

“What did he say?”

“He said ‘wow you sure see a lot of the Santiagos’ and my dad said ‘yeah Mia’s CJ’s best friend-”

They take this moment to high five.

“And then Uncle Charles said ‘and is Amy _your_ best friend Jake?’ and my dad got all funny about it like, you don’t know what you’re _talking_ about Charles, and my Uncle Charles just laughed like he knew stuff.”

“That sounds like he likes her,” Mia says gravely, “What can we do?”

“Well we can’t switch places,” CJ says, lying back down, “we don’t look anything alike! We should…damn-”

“Don’t swear please.”

“Damn’s not a swear word, Mia – we should be at your house for this, you have a whiteboard.”

“Because writing OPERATION GET JAKE AND AMY MARRIED isn’t suspicious _at all_.”

CJ wrinkles her nose. “Is suspicious a word? I thought it was just susp.”

“It might be,” Mia shrugs, and rolls over so she’s next to CJ. “You really wanna be my sister, huh?”

“More’n anything,” CJ says emphatically.

“We should call it Operation Sisters then.”

“Noice,” CJ says in the funny way her dad does sometimes, “D’you think we’ll get to share a room?”

“Depends whose house we live in.”

“My room is bigger than your room, no offence.”

“We’ll live here then.”

 CJ rolls onto her stomach and props her chin up with her hands. “So we gotta get ‘em on a date.”

“In the movie they went on a boat.”

It is at this moment that CJ’s father sticks his head round the door. “Sup,” he grins, “How was the movie?”

“Dope,” Mia nods enthusiastically. CJ sits up.

“I’m really interested in exploring the rest of Lindsay Lohan’s filmography,” she says, and Jake laughs.

“You should not know words like filmography, kiddo. Boyle’s a bad influence on you. _Anyhoo_ – your mom’s here, Mia.”

CJ glances at Mia and waggles her eyebrows.

“Then what are you doing up _here_ , Dad?” CJ says, “Go and entertain your guest!”

Mia beams, and Jake looks from one grinning face to the other. “Oh-kay,” he says, “weirdos.”

He disappears, and at the click of the closed door CJ jumps onto her feet.

“You’ll break the bed!” Mia says automatically, but her best friend just laughs.

“We’ll have a sleepover!”

“With my mom?”

“Yeah,” CJ jumps, “It’ll be like practise, for when they’re married.”

“But there’s no boat…” Mia’s bottom lip is between her teeth again.

“There doesn’t need to be a boat,” CJ propels herself forward so she lands on the floor, like Spiderman or something. “There just needs to be love!”

 

They find Jake and Amy drinking wine out of novelty glasses (a gift from Gina). CJ does the talking, and Jake cries with laughter when she says ‘grown-up sleepover’. Neither of the girls can understand why. Amy says “why not!” and drains her glass, and Mia is so happy she could cry.

“We should start picking bridesmaid dresses,” CJ says confidently as they clamber back up the stairs.

 

It doesn’t work. Or at least, when they emerge the next morning, there is no wedding to be planned.

“Back to the drawing board,” CJ says.

“There should be a boat.”

 

They can’t find a boat – or at least, one that they could afford (“ _$345 is not that much, Mia!” “My allowance is a dollar fifty – we’d be **old**_ _before we got that boat!”_ ). They watch _The Parent Trap_ again and again, and whilst it greatly improves their secret handshake, it offers little guidance beyond its initial offerings.

“We have to up our game, man,” Mia says, pacing up and down her bedroom. CJ pulls a face.

“What does that even mean? I got the boat man’s number on speed dial, my game’s as good as it gets.”

Mia shakes her head, and pushes her brand-new-still-stiff-pink-framed glasses up her nose. “Like you said, there doesn’t need to be a boat, there just needs to be love.”

“But you love the boat idea!”

“How were we going to get them _onto_ the boat? We need to – I don’t know, make them hang out on their own?”

CJ rolls over, long blonde hair trailing onto the ground. “But that’s no fun because we’re not there!”

“Do you want to be my sister or not?” Mia says sternly.

“Yes!”

“Then help with the plan! We gotta – they like each other, but they don’t _know_ they like each other, y’know?”

“So we have to tell them.”

“Right.”

CJ looks enthused for a moment, and then she says “How do we do that?”

Mia writes TELL THEM underneath BOAT on the OPERATION SISTERS board, and chews on her bottom lip.

“I’ll get back to you on that one.”

 

“So, Dad,” CJ says when Jake picks her up, “would you ever get married again?”

“Never been married, next question.”

“You know what I mean,” she says, “ _Speak Now_?”

“One step ahead of you, kiddo-” he hits play and the car fills with Taylor Swift’s _Mine_. She thinks this is when she feels most at home, in her dad’s car which, yeah, Mia’s right, _does_ smell of old cheese, listening to heartfelt country-pop from 2010. “And in answer to your question, yeah, I totally would, but TSwift’s seeing some Scottish dude A-T-M so hold off on buying a bridesmaid dress for now.”

“Mia’s mom’s never been married either,” CJ says, tone conversational.

“Amy? Yeah, she got pretty close though, closer than me.”

He glances at her raised eyebrows.

“What? We talk!”

There is silence for a moment whilst CJ considers her next move. “You like Amy, right Dad?”

“Yeah…” he says, drawing the word out, “Why?”

“She likes you.”

It is Jake’s turn to raise his eyebrows.

“What?” she mimics him, “We talk!”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” he says, and launches into bellowing the chorus of _Sparks Fly_ so loudly she knows the conversation is over.

 

“Who’s your best friend?” Mia asks Amy as her mother tucks her in.

“You are, you know that,” she replies, “You wanna read Matilda or shall I?”

“I don’t mind – who’s your best friend after me?”

“Why, are you doing a survey or something? Because I am _great_ at surveys.”

Mia shakes her head and shuffles back into her pillows as her mother opens the book.

“No, just wondering.”

“Well, Kylie is my _oldest_ friend, then probably Rosa, then Jake-”

Aha! She didn’t even have to bring him into the conversation herself! This is _excellent_ news!

“CJ’s dad?”

“Mhm – where were we?”

“She was sticking her dad’s hat onto his head – is he really one of your best friends?”

Amy nods, not looking up from the book. “He makes me laugh,” she says, “and we spend an awful lot of time together because of you and CJ.”

“Just because of me and CJ?”

“I don’t think our paths would’ve crossed if it hadn’t been for you and CJ, no.”

“But you like him as like, a separate thing?”

Amy looks up from the book, bookmark in hand. “Where’s all this coming from?”

“CJ says he really likes you.”

Her mother blushes a little, and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Good. We see a lot of each other. It’s good we get along.”

“You danced with him at CJ’s mom’s wedding.”

“I did, and now,” she collects herself a little, clearing her throat and shuffling in her seat, and Mia bites back a grin, “I am going to read you Matilda.”

 

Every other Saturday since they were four, CJ and Mia have a sleepover. They sit and paint each other’s nails and watch movies and plot to get their parents married. On this particular Saturday, they are half way through _The Princess Diaries_ (they cry laughing when Queen Clarisse stomps across screen saying “And they don’t shlump like this!”) when Mia hears a familiar but unexpected sound.

“Huh,” she says, “that’s weird.”

“What’s weird – M’n’M?”

“I think my mom’s still downstairs…I just heard her laugh.”

CJ grins. “Should we…?”

“I feel like we should,” Mia says, and she giggles because if her mother is _still downstairs_ , and if she’s _laughing_ …that’s gotta mean good things for OPERATION SISTERS.

They tip toe across the carpeted floor, shushing each other for bursts of laughter and glaring at the floor when it creaks. From the top of the stairs they can see onto the Peraltas couch, where Jake and Amy are sat, and drinking wine.

“Not in funny glasses!” CJ hisses, “This is serious!”

“What are they watching?” Amy is asking, and Mia cranes her neck to get a better view.

“The Princess Diaries.”

“Oh man, I _love_ that movie.”

“Feel free to go up there and watch it with them if my company is not enough for you!”

“Shut up,” she shuffles closer to him, “This is – I’m glad, y’know, that we’re doing this.”

“Me too.”

Mia can’t see Jake’s face but she can tell he’s smiling. And she can see her mom’s face and Amy’s almost _beaming_ , and she has to hold her breath to stop herself laughing with joy.

“If we’re going to do this,” Amy says, and she’s super close to him now, “we have to do it properly.”

“Because of the girls.”

“Right. Because of the girls. And because…”

“Listen, Amy – you know I’m all in, don’t you?”

She doesn’t say anything in response, but Mia thinks she sees her nod, and then, there they are, Jake and Amy, CJ’s dad and Mia’s mom, kissing on the couch.

This causes CJ to be unable to contain her laughter (it’s _funny_ , okay, kissing is _funny_ ) and their parents break apart, and look up at them.

“Girls!” Amy says, but Jake’s laughing, and so is CJ and Mia can’t help but giggle too. A smile breaks over Amy’s face, and Mia _knows_ , just like she knew when she saw CJ across the classroom the first time, that they are a family now. In fact, she thinks, they’ve been a family for a really long time. They just didn’t know it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels weird and disjointed and very much not the prompt but I've been sitting on it for days so I'm like "might as well just kick it out of the nest and see if it flies" or whatever that quote from One Tree Hill is. It was fun writing in-universe stuff though!! Also, shout out to Carly Rae Jepsen for providing the soundtrack to this.

**AMY, JAKE, CJ AND THE REST OF THE GANG**

> "we've been on a few dates andd my child just asked us when we're getting married"

Finding out Jake had a kid is up there with the most surreal moments of Amy’s life, along with singing karaoke with Captain Holt at Charles’ birthday, her third eldest brother’s Vegas wedding, and her entire friendship with Gina. She was three weeks into the job, determined to impress and convinced her partnership with Jake was going to greatly hinder her chances at being captain. He was so completely unambitious, it troubled her. And he was so irresponsible! And unhygienic! And everyone just _let him_ roll into work twenty minutes late! The Sarge was even _understanding_ about it!

“I’m here, I’m here!” Jake had said one morning, interrupting McGinley mid-sentence. He was half an hour late.

“Oh how lucky we are, Peralta has finally decided to grace us with his presence,” she said, which was probably a little out of line. The Sarge seemed to think so.

“Santiago!” he said, in that teacher-y, warning tone that made the back of her neck burn.

“I’m _sorry_ , Amy,” Jake replied, in a way that made it very clear he wasn’t sorry, “I got three hours sleep because my kid’s sick, so yeah, you are lucky I decided to grace you with my presence!”

“You have a _kid_? No way.”

It occurred to her that McGinley was still talking, but she pressed on. “Your favourite food is _gummy worms_ , your car is _disgusting_ , you’re _totally in debt,_ I haven’t been here a _month_ and I know that and-”

“ _Santiago_!” Sergeant Jeffords said again. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Detective Diaz, glaring at her.

“Okay Miss Know It All,” Jake had snapped, “if I’m not a dad, then explain this.”

And he shoved his phone under her nose. His camera roll was mostly images of himself and a tiny blonde girl who couldn’t have been more than four.

“Oh,” Amy said, in a very small voice, “what’s her name?”

“CJ. She’s three.”

She’d wanted to ask so many questions – _where’s her mom what do you do when you have to pull an all-nighter is that why you’re so in debt don’t you want more for your daughter_ – but she just nodded, and swallowed hard.

 

She met CJ a whole _year_ later, by which time she’d learnt nearly all the answers to her questions, and been forced to admit that Jake was a great cop and, possibly, an even better friend. There was some sort of emergency with his mother, and as a result, he came back from his lunch break with his daughter on his shoulders.

“Wh addup!” he called, “The Peraltas are here to solve some crime!”

“Is the precinct really the most appropriate place-” Terry began to say, but he was cut off by CJ throwing herself into his arms.

“It’s so nice to see you Uncle Terry!” she cried, and any protest about her presence there died.

“Hey, Cee, there’s someone I want you to meet!” Jake called. Amy, mid-email answering, took a few moments to realise he was referring to her.

“This is my partner, Amy Santiago,” Jake said, in the serious voice he used when talking to perps. CJ nodded gravely, and stuck out her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Amy Santiago,” she said, and Amy shook her hand. It was sticky, but she _was_ four, “I’m Crash Jacintha but no one calls me that.”

She shot Jake a look. His eyebrows were raised, like he was daring her to laugh.

“That’s a beautiful name,” she said, and CJ blushed a little.

“My mom wanted to call me Tracy.”

“Your mom also wanted to marry Prince William but we can’t always get what we want now, can we?”

“CJ is a way cuter name,” Amy reassured her.

She spent the afternoon sat under Jake’s desk playing Kwazy Cupcakes. Amy thought she was wonderful.

 

And now, CJ is _eleven_ and there is a tender thing growing between Amy and Jake. It has always been there, ever since the beginning, she thinks when Jake kisses her in the evidence lock up, but her awareness of it is so new, it feels fragile. She is scared of breathing wrong, in case it ruins it. They decide, because they are adults and they’re friends and _really why shouldn’t they_ , to go on a date.

“We owe it to ourselves,” Jake says, “y’know, to try.”

She agrees. “Can we do dinner? What’s CJ-?”

“Eh, she can look after herself.”

“She’s a _sixth grader, Jake_!”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he looks like he wants to kiss her again, “My mom’ll take her. Worst comes to worst, I’ll ask Rosa.”

“I still find it amazing that your daughter is the only person that’s been to Rosa’s place.”

Jake leans against the break room table, arms folded. “Y’know, I told Rosa about CJ before I even told my mom.”

Amy doesn’t know what to say to that – she thinks about it sometimes, Jake, in the academy, no more than a kid himself, fatherhood looming. She sips her coffee, listens to his story.

“I was being dumb, y’know, freaking out. And she was in the bar and I told her -  y’know, I screwed up, I’ve ruined Bernice’s life, no kid is gonna want me as a dad – and she-”

“Literally slapped some sense into you?”

He breaks into a grin. “You know this story,” he says.

“I know how it ends.”

“How does it end, again?”

She can feel the strange, new tenderness between them acutely.

“Bernice leaves-”

“I’d have left me if I were Bernice.”

“Let me finish – Bernice leaves, you, somehow, raise a very cool kid whilst simultaneously becoming a great cop, you meet _me_ -”

“We go on a date.”

“Stuff happened before that though.”

“Tons of stuff happened before that,” he agrees.

Their break is almost over.

“What do you want for dinner then?” Jake asks, and Amy kisses him again.

 

“CRASH JACINTHA!” Jake calls as soon as he walks through the door of his apartment at six, “GERTRUDE!”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT! I GAVE BIRTH TO YOU!” his mother calls from the kitchen.

“I’M AWARE! WHERE’S MY DAUGHTER?”

CJ is sat cross legged on the kitchen table, reading US Weekly.

“Sup Dad,” she says, “Apparently the Kardashian Wests are having marital problems.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, their marriage is based on a decade of friendship and mutual support – do these journalists even _know_ who they’re writing about? Hi Ma,” he kisses his mother’s cheek in greeting, “Listen, Ma, is it okay if you stick around for a bit? I kinda have a date.”

“I’m listening,” CJ closes the magazine and rests her chin in her hands, eyebrows raised in expectation.

“It’s no one you know,” he lies.

“Damn-”

“Don’t swear.”

“Damn isn’t a swear word, Nana – I was hoping, Dad, you might’ve asked Amy out.”

“You think I should ask out Amy?”

He wants to yell “ _WELL SURPRISE I HAVE”_ but they agreed not to tell anyone, not until they know where it’s going. He can’t screw this up.

“Yeah, she’s way cool. And you like her a lot.”

“It’s all in the past,” he lies again.

“So if it’s not Amy,” his mother asks, “who is it?”

“Some girl – from the – from the gym,” he sucks at lying. CJ howls with laughter.

“You don’t even go the gym!”

“It’s just some girl, honestly, it probably won’t even go anywhere.” This is another lie, because he wants it to go somewhere, he wants Amy to be _here_ , sat at the kitchen table with his daughter, swapping opinions on Kim Kardashian’s maternity wear, and having inside jokes with his mom.

“It’s fine,” Trudy says, patting him on the shoulder, “We’ll watch _Jeopardy_.”

“Thank you so much, you’re a life saver, I’m gonna go change now!”

“Don’t wear your red plaid, I used it to mop up the Coke I spilled in the living room!” CJ calls after him.

“He should’ve left you on the doorstep of that orphanage like I told him to,” Trudy deadpans. CJ shrugs, and goes back to her magazine.

 

Amy hates how awkward it is in the restaurant, how stilted the conversation feels. It’s the dress, she thinks, Kylie made her wear a dress she can’t breathe in, and this place is _so fancy_.

“This is too much,” she says, laughing nervously, “This place is – it’s really nice.”

“Mmmm, too nice if you ask me,” he replies, not looking up from his menu.

It’s _probably her dress_ , but this stings her a little. “I didn’t ask you to take me somewhere fancy,” she says, “It’s not like you’re trying to impress me or anything, I-”

“I’m sorry for trying to do something nice for our first for realsies date,” he snaps in the way he did all those years ago, like _I’m not sorry at all_. ‘For realsies’ makes her a laugh a little, but now’s not the _time_ , _Amy_.

“You know I’d like whatever we did, right?” she says quietly, “I did all this with Teddy, and every guy before – all the fancy dinners and small talk and everything, I’ve done all that. I just – I just wanted to hang out with you, Jake.”

He looks up, his face softens. “Right…”

She smiles, and finds she can breathe in the dress now. “Dine and dash?” she says in the same quiet voice. He beams.

“Amy Santiago you _incorrect rebel_ – it’s only dining and dashing when you’ve _eaten_ , which we _haven’t_.”

“And I have to say, I don’t want to – _mint oysters_? What _is_ that?”

He pauses, glances from side to side like they’re undercover and they’re deciding what move to make and the perp is right behind him. “You wanna get pizza and make out on my couch?”

She nods. _Yes. Forever_.  

 

He starts laughing when they get to his front door.

“This is so high school – my mom’s here.”

“I love Trudy!” Amy says cheerily. This is true. She’s met Jake’s mother at a handful of events, and she’s warm and funny and makes everyone feel at ease. Rather like her son, now she thinks about it.

Jake laughs again, and kisses her. Amy feels it in her _toes_ , which is stupid and romantic and she never wants to kiss anyone else again, ever.

He opens the front door, and Trudy is curled up on the couch, watching _When Harry Met Sally_.

“Hi,” she sits bolt upright, “You’re back earlier than expected!”

“The restaurant sucked,” Amy says, and Jake looks at her out of the corner of his eye, like she’s surprised him.

“Oh really?” Trudy says.

“We’re gonna get pizza,” Jake mumbles and _God_ , this really is so high school.

“I see…” she looks like she’s fighting back a laugh, “Well. I’ll get out of your way then. CJ’s in bed, but she’s still awake.”

“Thanks, Ma,” Jake says sincerely. Trudy beams at them.

“I’ll just say goodnight to my granddaughter.”

Amy follows them both to CJ’s room. She’s very aware that this is someone else’s family. But Jake puts his hand on the small of her back and there’s that word again, throbbing in her chest. _Forever forever forever forever_.

“Your dad’s back,” Trudy says to CJ, who is sat in bed reading Roald Dahl’s _The Witches_.

“Already? What happened? You get stood up? That’s rough, buddy.”

Jake stands aside, grinning, to reveal Amy. She’s unsure how to respond to CJ’s dropped jaw, so she waves.

“Hi!”

CJ blinks rapidly. “ _You liar, Dad_!” she says finally, and Jake laughs.

“The restaurant sucked,” Amy explains, “We’re gonna get pizza.”

“And _you_ ,” Jake says, “are gonna get some sleep. Goodnight, Crash Jacintha.”

“Night Dad. Nana. Amy.” CJ nods at them all, pauses then says “Ooh, Amy shall I call you Mom now? When’s the wedding?”

The adults laugh, and Jake closes the door with a pointed “ _Goodnight CJ_.”

“Goodnight, you two,” Trudy says, and Amy is aware of her leaving the apartment, but she can’t concentrate on anything that’s not Jake, can’t stop beaming at him. 

“Are you crying?” he says curiously, and Amy shakes her head.

“I’m not crying.”

“Yes you are, your eyes are all shiny and – y’know, wet.”

“I’m just happy.”

“You are?” he says like he can’t quite believe it. She nods. He kisses her, and the thing between them doesn’t feel fragile at all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like this one? Again, it's not reaaaaally the prompt, and it's in universe but like, pre-show. I dunno how well that works. Also I was gonna write it with Max as the kid but I am so attached to Mia and her massive pink glasses, I couldn't do it.

**AMY AND MIA**

> “i asked you to babysit one time and now my child keeps asking when you will spend time with them again”

It starts, as all things between them do, with a bet.

There’s an arson case they’re working on, a florist burnt to the ground. Amy’s convinced it was an inside job, but Jake is adamant it was a spurned ex-lover. She thinks this answer satisfies his weird urge to make everything as dramatic as possible.

“It was the mistress,” he says, “I’m certain of it!”

“They were in _debt_ , Jake, something you know a lot about-”

“Low blow, Amy!”                                     

“Listen,” she perches on the side of his desk, “we bring the daughter in for questioning, if she doesn’t crack, I promise we’ll go after the mistress.”

He looks up at her curiously, and she knows what he’s about to say before he says it.

“If I’m right…”

“Oh, God.”

“If I’m right, _you_ have to come karaoke-ing with me and Boyle on Friday, _and_ duet Taylor Swift’s break out hit _Love Story_ with me.”

“I have a kid, Jake!”

“And a mom!”

She narrows her eyes at him. Her mother has eleven grandchildren and still works full time. Asking her to babysit so she can go out karaoke-ing seems a little unfair.

“If _I’m right_ , which I _am_ ,” she says, “ _you_ have to babysit Mia whilst Boyle and I go see _West Side Story_ on Broadway.”

He scrunches up his nose. “Do I have to pay?”

“I’m not a monster, Jake.”

He grins. “Then it’s a deal.”

They shake on it.

 

* * *

 

It takes her fifteen minutes to crack the daughter. Amy kind of feels sorry for her – she’s in her early twenties with a useless degree in Internet or something, living at home again with heavily indebted parents.

“Please – don’t – tell them,” she sobs, “They – were – doing it for me!”

“Thank you for your help, Cynthia,” Amy says as kindly as she can. It’s hard to be kind when she feels so damn _smug._ She can only _imagine_ what Jake’s face must be like behind the one way window. “Do you want me to give you a minute?”

Cynthia sneezes and nods at the same time, and Amy leaves her be.

“Told you so!” she crows, and Jake grimaces.

“God, you’re insufferable.”

“Is that right, Detective Right All The Time?” she asks, beaming. He rolls his eyes too melodramatically to be sincere.

“This is my nightmare,” he grumbles, “Whatever. Let’s go get our criminals.”

The idea of a night out (she loves her daughter, she does, it’s just that if she watches _Frozen_ one more time, she’ll be letting go of her _sanity_ ) fills her with so much glee she can’t help but sing as they walk out to the car. “I feel pretty! Oh so pretty! I feel pretty and witty and bri-i-ight!”

“Are you sure you’re not going to be _in_ West Side Story?” Jake asks, “Are you moonlighting?”

She snorts. “Shut up and get in the car.”

 

* * *

 

“Does Jake have any experience with children?” Mia asks as she watches her mother get ready on Friday night.

“Well, he’s a man-child, so,” Amy holds up two different pairs of earrings, “Which ones?”

“The blue ones. They’re dangly and they go with your dress.”

“Good choice – I’m sure he’s looked after Terry’s kids a ton of times, they love him.”

“Yeah, but they’re _three_. I’m _six_. What if he’s never seen _Frozen_?”

“Then you can watch it together.” Privately, Amy thinks that work will be _unbearable_ if that happens. Mia will teach him _all the words_ and he would _never stop singing_. She shudders at the thought.

“How do I look?” she asks, standing straight. Mia tilts her head to one side.

“Fancy,” she pauses, “Are you going on a date?”

Amy snorts. “Ew, gross, no.”

“You don’t go on dates,” Mia says simply. Amy laughs again.

“No, I don’t.”

It is at this point that there is a sharp, triple tap on the front door which is too neat to be Boyle, whose knocks get messier the more excited he is.

“Hello!” Jake calls from outside, “Babysitter extraordinaire here! Here to sit on some babies, that came out wrong!”

Amy opens the door, grinning. She’s still attaching an earring, and Jake inhales sharply.

“You look beautiful,” he says, almost involuntarily.

“Why thank you, loser,” she replies, still beaming, “come in.”

He follows her in, remarks “Wow I forgot how old-lady-y your apartment is,” and then, cheerily, “Sup Mia!”

“Sup,” she replies drily, “Charles is in the doorway, Mom.”

“We raced up the stairs. I won,” Jake explains, and Charles waves cheerily.

“Hi Amy! Beautiful earrings!”

“Thank you, Boyle – you’re still a loser in my eyes, Jake.” Amy turns to her daughter, “Don’t be good, Jake lost a bet. Watch _Frozen_ as much as you can. I love you.”

She kisses her daughter’s forehead, points Jake in the direction of the bathroom and swoops out of the door.

“She looks like a fairy princess,” Mia says, reverently.

“Yeah,” Jake replies in a very similar tone, “she does.”

 

* * *

 

West Side Story is _excellent_ , but is – not _ruined_ exactly, but Charles says every word under his breath. Even the script. It is different from when she last went with Kylie when she was pregnant, is what it is. She has fun though. Boyle’s enthusiasm is infectious, always, and it is _nice_ not to worry. At least, not to worry as much as she usually does. When she gets home, Jake is asleep on her couch, a doily draped over his head and the main menu of the Frozen DVD playing the same four bars of _Let It Go_ on repeat. She’s had a glass of wine ( _fine she’s had three, Charles is an enabler!_ ) so she’s feeling looser than usual, and throws herself down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. She can’t think of any time in the last five years she’s been this close to him.

“Jake,” she whispers in his ear, “Jake. Jake. Ja-a-ake. P’ralta!”

He jerks awake, the doily falling from his head to the floor. “Where’s the fire – oh, Santiago! You’re home!”

“Honey-y, I’m ho-o-ome,” she mumbles ( _wow, she really can no longer hold her liquor_ ) “Nice doily.”

“Mia’s idea. We couldn’t find a crown.”

“You’re a king now?”

“ _Actually_ , I’m a _princess_ , don’t be so restrictive.”

She laughs. “You kids had fun then?”

He nods, sighs in a tired and contented way that she recognises in her bones. It’s the kind of sigh she’d imagined hearing from Teddy after she got pregnant, when she’d thought about their life together. She never did hear it, as it turned out. Thinking about it makes her less sad than it used to.

“So much fun,” Jake was saying. Her head feels very heavy and she hasn’t moved it from his shoulder. “So much fun, in fact, that I’ve decided to jack it all in and become a nanny.”

“I knew your childishness would come in useful for you some day,” she yawns, “Thank you, though.”

“You’re welcome. You deserve a night off.”

Amy thinks, absently, that she wishes Jake had knocked her up instead of Teddy.

“I’m flattered, Santiago, but you wouldn’t be saying that if you knew me six years ago.”

“What?” She shuffles into a sitting position. _God, she knew she shouldn’t have had that third glass_.

“You said you wished I’d knocked you up instead of Teddy.”

“I’ve had a lot of wine-” she begins to babble, but he just smiles.

“There would be a lot less doilies in this apartment if I’d have knocked you up, I’m just saying.”

“What? Why?” She’s on the defensive now, her sleepy wine brain suddenly alert with anxiety.

“Well,” he clears his throat, “I’d be living here, because we’d be married-”

“Why would we be married?”

“Because I knocked you up and it’s the right thing to do, keep _up,_ Amy! So there’d be less doilies, and we’d get a dartboard because they’re super freaking cool, and I don’t know, maybe a bigger TV? Definitely a dartboard though.”

She sits back against the couch, thinking about what a bigger TV would do to the size of the living room.

“Would we have to live here?” she asks.

He shrugs. “Nah-”

“Not enough room for the TV,” they say at exactly the same time.

There is brief, quiet laughter, and then silence.

“Thanks again, Jake,” Amy says when it gets too heavy.

“Don’t thank me,” he gets to his feet, “Thank Mr and Mrs Peters for getting so heavily into debt they felt they had no choice but to burn their beloved store down. G’night Santiago. See you on Monday.”

He pats her shoulder affectionately, and shows himself out. She, rather irresponsibly, falls asleep on the couch, one hand hanging off the side, fingertips brushing the abandoned doily.

 

* * *

 

“Jake has seen Frozen,” Mia tells her over breakfast the next morning, “Also, he does voices when he reads stories.”

Amy’s not surprised. “What did he read?”

“James and the Giant Peach. He tried to do a British accent, but he was bad at it.”

“I know right? His British accent is _so_ bad,” Amy laughs, “Did you have fun though?”

“I did, yes,” she takes a long gulp of orange juice, tiny hands wrapped round the glass. When she puts the glass down, she says “He’s my new favourite babysitter. Also, he likes you.”

“ _Wow_ , okay,” Who knew her daughter could so easily be bought with some silly voices and knowledge of the most recent Disney movie? “Next time I go out I’ll ask him to sit, shall I?”

“That’d be cool,” she shrugs, “Can I get down please?”

“ _May_ I get down please?” Amy corrects her, “Don’t forget we’re going to a crafts fair at eleven!”

 

* * *

 

“Mia really liked you,” she tells Jake on Monday, leaning against the corner of his desk, “Maybe you _should_ become a nanny.”

“Would you hire me?” he asks, like he’s genuinely curious. Amy laughs.

“I can’t afford a nanny. Maybe when I make Captain. But maybe she won’t need a nanny when I make Captain. Oh God, what if-”

“Amy,” Jake says, “It’ll be okay. And if I became a nanny, who would catch the criminals?”

“Me, obviously.”

“You would,” he agrees, “Guess I should just hand in my retirement papers now.”

“They could make a movie about you,” Amy says cheerily, “Badass cop turned nanny – in fact, they probably already have and-”

“Dwayne The Rock Johnson was in it!” Jake finishes for her. She grins.

“In all seriousness though…if you were okay with it, I mean, next time you lose a bet or I have – y’know, I go out…she likes you more than the girl who lives three doors down from us and always smells of nail polish, y’know?”

Jake throws the ball of rubber bands from one hand to the other. “She’s a good kid. Which is to be expected, because she comes from you. But y’know,” he puts on the stupid voice he does when he’s trying to be suave, “if you wanted to spend more time with me, Santiago, you don’t have to use your daughter to get to me.”

She doesn’t know what possesses her to say it. Perhaps it is the fact the thought of a dartboard in her apartment doesn’t make her cringe as much as it should, or the memory of resting her head on his shoulder.

“Okay,” she says, “You wanna go to the zoo or something? The three of us?”

“What?”

“The zoo. Saturday. I might be wrong but do NYPD employees get discount?”

Jake opens and closes his mouth several times, like he can’t get the words out.

“Yeah,” he says eventually, and Amy gets up from her perch, grinning. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

“Then it’s a date.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.” She goes back to her desk, and he goes back to his computer. And every time she glances at him from the corner of her eye, he’s smiling.

 

* * *

 

“You wanna go to the zoo on Saturday? With Jake?”

Mia looks up from her book. “Why with Jake, where do you have to go?”

“Nowhere. I’ll be there too.”

“The three of us?”

“Yep.”

Mia beams.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to that bit at the Emmys with Tatiana Maslany and the can of beans.

**JAKE AND CJ, AGAIN**

> “we are friends and your name is my child’s first word was your name and I’m jealous but also kind of endeared”

To be honest with you, in Jake’s ideal world, CJ’s first word would be like, ‘murder’ or ‘explosion’ (and her mom would be Tatiana Maslany or some other beautiful talented actress, not the directionless Bernice, who runs off with a semi professional basketball player two months before their daughter turns one) (Tatiana Maslany would never do that to him) but, Terry tells him, that’s not how language develops in children, so he’s just going to have to pin his hopes on her first word being _Dada_. The thought of her saying it out loud kind of scares the bejeesus out of him, because then it’s real. He feels like he’s been faking it so far, the whole being a dad thing. And at some point, someone’s going to tap him on the shoulder and tell him Bernice made a mistake, and CJ’s real dad is some put together millionaire who can afford a nanny and doesn’t take comedy photographs of the baby holding an open can of beer. The thought of that happening scares Jake far more than being an Actual Dad does.

Gina says she’ll help him organise The World’s Best First Birthday Party, which involves a smoke machine and a Floorgasm routine inspired by CJ. Amy helps with the practicalities, filling the back of her car with paper plates, and donating her kitchen chairs so he’ll have enough seats for everyone. Charles offers his services as mini-pizza maker and Jake has him swear he won’t put anything with hooves on them. Rosa, meanwhile, tracks Bernice down to a motel in Texas, of all places, and leaves her a curt voicemail asking her to refrain from attending (at least, that’s what she tells him it says – he expects it was a little more explicit and threatening than that). Jake’s never felt so grateful for anything.

 

* * *

 

“Is Holt coming?” Amy asks him as they lug chairs up the stairs in his building.

“Dunno,” Jake shrugs, “I emailed him an invite, but he never got back to me.”

“How are you not stressing about that?” she says, “You’re two steps from the top by the way – I’d be freaking out if I were you!”

“That’s because you’re like, in love with him,” Jake points out, “As long as CJ, my mom and you are there, I don’t really care about anyone else.”

She pulls the chair up so it’s covering her face and Jake thinks she’s doing it so he can’t see her grinning.

 

* * *

 

“Do you know what would be the coolest thing in the world?” Jake tells CJ the morning of the party. She gurgles. “If you said _Dada_ today. Could you do that? I think you could. You can do anything, kiddo.”

The baby claps her hands together.

“I’m glad you agree.”

 

* * *

 

Amy arrives early, because she’s Amy and that’s what she does. Jake opens the door with CJ in his arms and she ignores his hello, grabbing the baby from him instead.

“Happy birthday, CJ!” she coos, “Oh, don’t you look smart? What a beautiful dress!”

“Right? It was discount too!”

Amy laughs. “Isn’t he funny, CJ? Isn’t your daddy funny?”

“There’s nothing funny about discount clothing, Amy, I’m being responsible!”

“I know,” she says softly, and shifts the baby onto her hip, “D’you need any help?”

“Nope, just gotta wait for Charles and his mini pizzas and Gina’s smoke machine-”

“You do know that that stuff is really bad for babies, right?”

“What, mini pizzas?”

She rolls her eyes. “No, dummy, smoke machines. It gets in their chest, I watched a documentary about it.”

“Wha-a-a-a-at?” He totally does know that, but Amy always laughs at his stupid voices, and he always gets a kick out of it. “Maybe we could put it on the balcony...?”

“Yeah, your neighbours will love that,” she deadpans, “I’m getting a drink, d’you want one?”

“Beer please!” he says, opening the door to the balcony.

“It’s eleven in the morning!”

“I’m celebrating!” he yells, and takes a deep breath. Ah, that filthy New York air. He catches a    glimpse of Amy out of the corner of his eye, opening his fridge with his baby balanced on her hip. CJ’s got her chubby fist wrapped around Amy’s hair and he can’t hear her over the roar of the traffic, but Amy’s talking to her, and both of them are smiling. Although, with CJ, it could just be wind.

 

* * *

 

Gina is next to arrive, along with all of Floorgasm. Three of them give Jake their numbers in case he “ever needs any help”, and Amy laughs as Natasha (who is married! _Married Natasha!_ ) runs her hand down the whole length of his arm as they have a conversation about sterilising baby bottles, of all things. Gina takes the rejection of her smoke machine in her stride.

“It’s my throne now – Jake get my throw out of my purse!”

“How much crap have you got in here?” Jake asks, rifling through the bag.

 “It’s not crap, Jake. It’s life-cessities. Necessities for life.”

“Is this it?” he holds up a blanket that features a tiger, snarling.

“Nooooo,” Gina shakes her head, “the _throw_ , Jacob, c’mon! It has _tassels_!”

“Yeah, Jake how could you forget throws have tassels?” Amy laughs.

“Oh you’re a throw expert now are you Santiago?”

“Décor is actually a hobby of mine, so yeah, more than you.”

“I decorated this _apartment_!”

“With Die Hard posters!”

“That movie is a work of art!”

Gina throws her head back and groans. “Do you expect me to just stand here _suffering_ whilst you two _flirt_ about décor? I am worth more than this!”

“We’re not flirting,” they say at exactly the same time.

Gina raises her eyebrows. “Sure Jan.”

 

* * *

 

Boyle brings with him thirteen boxes of mini pizzas and Rosa, who starts no conversations and keeps one eye on the door all day.

“You expecting someone?” Jake asks her.

“Bernice,” she says shortly, “I’m actually hoping she does turn up. I want to beat the crap out of her.”

“I’m so glad my poor motherless daughter has you as a role model,” he says warmly. He is not being sarcastic.

Rosa says nothing, but she clears her throat and averts her eyes. Jake thinks that means thanks, or you’re welcome, or something.

 

* * *

 

The apartment is filled with babies and toddlers, and Jake wonders how this is his life. A year ago, this was a _bachelor pad_. He had a dart board! But there’s a kind of quietness, despite the noise, that he feels, sat on the couch beside Amy, CJ on her knee.

“This is nice,” Amy says, “if a little loud.”

He nods. “You having a good time, Cee?”

CJ giggles.

“I’ll take that as a yes then.”

“Can you say yes, CJ?” Amy asks, “Can you?”

She can’t, apparently, but she laughs and, very clearly, points and says “Amy!”

“What?” Amy says, “What did you say? What?”

“Amy!” she says again.

Jake begins to laugh. “At least she didn’t say Mom.”

Amy looks from the baby, to him, back to the baby again. “Oh God,” she says, “I’m – I’m sorry, I guess, I know how much you wanted her first word to be Dad-”

“Actually I wanted her first word to be murder.”

This makes Amy laugh.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry – it’s cool, Ames, honestly. It’s funny.”

She purses her lips together like she doesn’t believe him.

“Listen, it’s not like I’m keeping a scrapbook of this stuff so I can probably lie to her when she’s-”

“ _Sorry what_?” Amy interrupts him, grabbing his arm, “ _Did you say you’re not scrapbooking this stuff?”_

She has a very tight grip. He thinks, absently, that she probably took an arm-grabbing seminar.

“Well, there’s only one of me, so I don’t really have-”

Amy gets an almost maniacal look in her eye, like she’s been waiting for this moment her whole life.

“ _Jake_ ,” she says, “ _I_ will scrapbook for you.”

He expected nothing less from her.

“D’you hear that Cee? Your new favourite person in the world is gonna make you a scrap book!”

CJ stretches her arms out to him. “Amy!”

“Nope, I’m Dad but we’ll work on that.”

He takes the baby from her and she sort of sinks into his arm for a moment, still holding onto CJ’s hand.

“I’m glad,” he tells her, “that your name was her first word.”

Amy glances up at him, leaning across his lap with his daughter’s chubby fist in her hand.

“Me too,” she says.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is embarrassing how long it has taken me to update this. But in my defence, I have been super busy with my new job as a - drumroll please - nursery nurse, which means I know so much more about babies now than I did when I first started this fic. There are so many kids at work where I'm like "I'll take that character trait for CJ! You're a Mia! That is a Max Santiago face!". Anyhoo. This whole universe has been one of my absolute favourite things to write, and I'm mega-chuffed that so many other people are enjoying it too.

**AMY AND MIA AND JAKE AND CJ AND CHARLES AND GINA AND WASHINGTON DC**

* * *

 

**“we are the only two parents who agreed to attend the school trip (bonus: “so I guess we share this hotel room?”)**

* * *

 

When her daughter begins attending school, Amy vows to herself that she will do whatever she can in aiding the school in giving Mia the best education possible. And as a result of this, she chaperones every one of the school trips, from the zoo to the Empire State Building. So it’s no question that she’s going on the three day all-expenses-paid-for-the-adults trip to Washington that comes about when Mia’s in sixth grade.

“Are you sure you’re okay with missing Feedback Friday?” Mia asks. Feedback Friday is Amy’s favourite day of the week, because she gets a Workplace Performance Review and then the afternoon off. Normally, she and Mia go for ice cream.

“It’s for your education!” Amy clucks, “I’d do anything for your education! I’d leave dishes unwashed in the sink for your education!”

Mia raises an eyebrow, a move she has learnt from Amy’s best-work-friend Rosa. “Really?”

“I would _seriously consider_ leaving dishes unwashed in the sink for your education.”

 

* * *

 

As the two Santiagos approach the school gates on the Friday of the trip, there is havoc, as there always tend to be before thirty ten year olds get on a coach for four hours. Kids are hanging out of the windows, yelling at siblings and parents, and parents are running round, brandishing forgotten toothbrushes and sandwiches that are _not supposed to be consumed on the coach, Mrs Bacall, we will be stopping for lunch_. The sixth grade teacher, a gentle muscular man named Mr Jeffords, looks rushed off his feet.

“Ms Santiago!” he says when he sees them, “You’re here!” He sounds relieved. “Mia, d’you wanna get on the bus? Do you know who your buddy is?”

“Yes, it’s CJ. Is she here?”

“Third row from the front.”

“She gets travel-sick, so she has to be close to the driver,” Mia says to Amy, “See you on the bus!”

She skips off. Amy is hit with the sharp realisation that one day, her daughter will skip away from her forever. The thought is too much to bear, so she shakes it off, asks Terry a mundane question about Estimated Times of Arrival.

“I’m so grateful you volunteered your time, Amy,” Mr Jeffords tells her, “We’ve had a real lack of parent-or-guardian chaperones for this trip.”

“I just do not understand that,” she nods, “your child’s education should be the priority!”

“And fun,” comes a voice from behind her, “fun should be a priority too. Hi!”

Amy looks behind her to see Jake Peralta, father of travel-sick-Mia’s-buddy CJ. He’s grinning, arms folded and looking right at her. Something about his gaze makes her want to tuck her hair behind her ears, like _she’s_ the sixth grader. “So you’re my partner this weekend, huh? I’m pumped tee-bee-haich.”

“Partner? What? How many chaperones are there?”

“Well,” Mr Jeffords says slowly, “Now you’re here that’s…that’s two.”

“Oh.”

Jake Peralta looks very amused by all this. “Oh man, are you mega-bummed that you have to spend a whole weekend with me and thirty children?”

“Make that thirty _one_ children then,” she snaps, before remembering herself, “Oh my God, I am – I am _so sorry_ , I-”

It’s not that she _dislikes_ Jake-Peralta-CJ’s-father but she doesn’t _wholly like him_ either. Every time she comes into contact with him, be it at parent’s evening or birthday parties or whatever, he’s always encouraging the kids to eat terribly or singing dumb songs in totally inappropriate situations – she can’t believe he’s a father, basically (but she can totally believe he’s a single father, like, _even she_ would struggle to raise a child with him, and she was planning on doing it with _Teddy_ ).

“At least you didn’t call me poop-brain, CJ likes to use that one when she’s mad.”

Mr Jeffords, whom Amy has previously thought she had a – an _understanding_ with, pulls a face. “Make that thirty _two_ ,” he grumbles.

“Sir,” Amy says quickly, “sir, I am so – that comment was totally inappropriate, I apologise.”

“Just – just get on the bus, Ms Santiago.”

Jake Peralta, from behind Mr Jeffords, looks pleased with himself, and like he’s about to make a joke. She narrows her eyes at him, and without even looking, Mr Jeffords says “you too, Mr Peralta!”

Amy smiles smugly.

 

* * *

 

They sit at the back, so they have a decent view of every seat, and on one side of Amy is School Administrator Gina Linetti, who is _supposed_ to be sat in the middle of the seats with Mr Boyle, the other sixth grade teacher. Jake, from the other side of Amy, points this out to her.

“Mmmm, yeah, nah, I’m not sitting with him. His lunch is hooves and his cologne makes my throat burn.”

“But you’re a _chaperone_ ,” Amy says, aghast. Gina shrugs, and pulls out her phone.

Amy frowns, and turns to Jake, in a ‘ _can you believe this’_ kind of way. Jake is also on his phone.

“ _We are responsible for children_ ,” Amy hisses, but neither of them look up.

She rolls her eyes, and settles into her seat. _This’ll probably be the longest weekend of my life_ , she thinks, _aside from the road trip I went on to Teddy’s parents’ house._ She was six months pregnant at the time, and they had to keep stopping at deserted gas stations for her to pee.

 

* * *

 

Around the two hour mark, the bus fills with the heavy sort of silence that accompanies exhaustion. Amy is alert all the time, always, she’s a mother after all, but this sort of silence settles in her bones and she finds her eyes are very difficult to keep open. And it wouldn’t _hurt_ , would it? If she napped for like, twenty minutes? She glances over at Gina, who is playing Kwazy Cupcakes and not paying any attention to Amy. And Jake is staring out of the window – Amy hopes he’s seriously reconsidering most of his life choices. She fears he might draw a moustache on her face or something, but the weight of her head is so great she can’t be bothered to worry too deeply about it. And besides, it might make a funny story for a dinner party (not that she ever got invited to dinner parties). So, slowly, she sinks back into her seat and closes her eyes. And then –

“Welcome to Washington DC, everyone!” Mr Jeffords is saying at the front of the bus, “Please wait in your seats! Pick up your garbage!”

Amy’s first thought is that she is _so comfortable right now_. She seems to have found a pillow – it’s very soft and smells like coffee and something sweet ( _strawberries? She can’t tell._ ). And then she remembers, jolts upright, and hears a groan of pain from her right side.

“Jeez, Santiago,” Jake Peralta says, rubbing his jaw, “Where’s the fire?”

A realisation sets in – she slept on his shoulder.

“Thanks for the drool stain,” he grumbles, getting to his feet. On her other side, Gina chuckles.

“Oh _man,_ ” she says, putting her phone in her bag, “that’s Christmas card material, right there.”

Amy blinks rapidly. Is she still dreaming? _Wake up, Amy_!

“What – what – did you take pictures of that? Of me – _drooling_ on Jake?”

Gina laughs again, and stands up. “Oh there was so much more going on before that. Snuggling…nuzzling…you name it,” she leans over and whispers, “ _you did it_.”

She stands up fully, smiling brightly. “C’mon Amy!”

Amy rushes to her feet, the back of her neck burning.

 

* * *

 

At dinner, Amy is seated on a table with World’s Pickiest Eater Stacey Judy, and watches Mia eat her lasagne and carrots and peas at the table next to her - Jake’s table (he hasn’t mentioned the shoulder-sleeping so she’s just pretending it didn’t happen). He is, she notices, irritatingly good at getting the kids to eat their onions and other things they deem gross (for example, drinking water instead of soda is apparently _mortally offensive_ to half the table). His method is to distract them with stupid voices and funny faces, and before they know it they’ve got an empty plate and are begging him to do that impression of Principal Holt again. Amy, on the other hand, can _feel_ her voice getting shriller as she begs Stacey Judy to eat something that isn’t the cheese on top of the lasagne.

“Carrots help you see in the dark, Stacey!” she says. A good three quarters of the kids have finished and gone to bed, including Mia and CJ. Stacey folds her arms.

“That’s a lie. My dad said so.”

“Hey don’t I play basketball with your dad?” Jake Peralta says from his table, leaning back so his chair’s on two legs.

“That’s dangerous,” Amy says, but he ignores her.

“You might,” Stacey says flatly, “He plays basketball with loads of dudes. Mom says he does it to get out of doing laundry.”

Jake adopts a fake hurt voice. “I thought I meant something to him!”

Stacey laughs – it’s the first positive emotion she’s displayed all evening. Amy bristles with jealousy, because Stacey is sat on _her table_ and Jake’s chair is positioned far too precariously, and no one ever finds Amy’s jokes funny, except her best friend Kylie after three glasses of wine.

“Anyway,” Jake continues, gripping the table next to Amy’s plate, “your dad is right about the carrot thing. Totally useless for seeing in the dark. Great for agility though. You eat a carrot before a meet, they’ll be calling you Elastagirl.”

“Really?” She sounds disbelieving, but Jake nods insistently. She picks up her fork and Amy rolls her eyes. _Unbelievable_.

“And, y’know, they’re not _disgusting_. They make cakes out of them!”

“My mom makes cakes out of them…” Stacey says.

“Right?! Your mom makes great cake-”

“Oh you’re _Cake Jake_ ,” Stacey says, like everything’s slotting into place, “That makes sense.”

And then she stabs a carrot with her fork and Amy shoots him a look like _what is your secret_?

“Elastagirl, huh?” she says, not really to them, and then takes a bite.

Amy grabs Jake’s arm and he grins, a little smugly. “How did you do that?” she whispers.

“How d’you get Mia to eat her vegetables?” he shrugs.

“I don’t need to,” Amy says, “she knows vegetables are a crucial part of a balanced diet and without them she would feel lethargic and more prone to illness.”

Jake raises an eyebrow disbelievingly.

“ _Fine_ ,” Amy admits, “I promise her we can go to the zoo.”

“Because she wants to be a zoologist, she told me. Kids are easy, you just have to figure out their weakness. For example, Stacey does gymnastics. You work in sales, right? It’s like that. ”

“I work in accounts,” she mumbles.

“Nice eating, Stace – I gotta check with Terry what time we’re getting up in the morning, because if it’s later than nine, I’m getting a beer.”

“ _That is so inappropriate_!” Amy hisses, but Stacey isn’t listening, and whilst she doubts they’ll have time, Amy has to admit it sounds tempting. Jake just shrugs and gets to his feet, leaving Amy sitting in a semi-awkward silence with Stacey Judy.

 

* * *

 

She’s on her way up to bed about an hour later when she sees him in the hotel bar – despite the fact they’re supposed to be getting up at seven! He’s nursing a bottle of beer and he looks kind of… _sad_? Amy knows she doesn’t know him that well but she sort of assumed he was like one of those constantly smiling golden retrievers. It is curiosity alone that causes her to slide onto the bar stool next to him and order a small red wine because they’re going to the _White House tomorrow_ , and she’s not doing that hungover.

“You handled Stacey really well,” she says quietly, and it’s not quite thanks but it’s as close as she’ll give him. He nods shortly and takes a long sip of beer.

“Thanks. Sorry for, like, stealing your thunder or whatever. I know you wanna be personally responsible for every kid on this trip getting their three-a-day or whatever.”

“It’s five-a-day,” she says automatically, “and I – I don’t wanna be responsible for _everyone_ ’s nutrition, like, as long as Mia’s okay and no other child _dies_ under my care then I’m good. I’ve done my job.”

“See, that’s exactly how I feel!” His words are slightly slurred, and Amy wonders when he started drinking. “We got this chaperone thing _down_!”

“It’s only the first night – d’you think you should slow down with the beer?”

His forehead creases in confusion and then he glances down to the bottle in his hand like he hasn’t realised it was there.

“Right. Yeah. Sorry – I’m not – I’m just-”

“I get it,” Amy says, even though she doesn’t really, “It’s tough being on your own. You are…on your own, right?”

He nods and inhales sharply through his nose and Amy knows she’s touched a very tender nerve. And, to make him feel better about being dumped by Whatever-Her-Name-Is, she tells him “Mia’s dad’s name is Teddy. He’s a cop, and he’s – he’s a good dude, like on paper he’s my dream man? Nice to his mom, uses proper grammar in texts, bought me flowers, proposed when I told him I was pregnant, but he’s…very boring. So very boring. And when we together, it’s like I was…always waiting for the climax-”

“Waiting for the climax, title of your sex tape,” Jake says and Amy literally gasps.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, “Inappropriate. It’s a…dumb inside joke - please, continue.”

“We were just on a plateau? All the time? It was _so boring_! And I was watching my stomach get bigger and bigger and just _knowing_ that I was going to bring a baby into this _stifling boredom_ and we were trying to plan this wedding and I didn’t want to marry him!”

Jake looks invested in the story now. “So did you leave him at the altar? Run away in the dead of night?”

She exhales and takes a long drink of wine that leaves the top of her face feeling a little numb. “No, I wrote this…God, I wrote a _speech_. And I read it out and then he helped me pack and drove me to my mom’s and it was so amicable I wanted to _vomit_. And when Mia was first born he saw her every weekend and then when she got a little older it was every other weekend and now she sees him once a month and I’m pretty sure by the time she’s fifteen she’ll see him once a year but he pays child support on time, and he’s got a new wife now, so….yeah. Sorry.”

Jake doesn’t look at her for a moment, and he taps his fingers against the beer bottle. “Don’t be sorry,” he says eventually, and glances at her. “So what, did you like, handwrite it or…?”

She takes another gulp of wine. “I typed it,” she tells him, face scrunched in embarrassment. Jake snorts.

“You _typed_ it? Like, you opened a Word Document and printed it out?”

“Yep.”

“Do you still have it?” He’s genuinely curious, and Amy finds herself grinning when she meets his eyes.

“Yeah, it’s filed away in my Break-Up Paperwork folder,” she can barely say it with a straight face, but she thinks that might just be the wine ( _she loves her folders, they’re colour-coded and covered in plastic_ ).

“Ooh a folder? That’s organised.”

“I’m a very organised person.” She downs the last of her wine and rests her chin in her hands and her elbows on the bar, “So what about you, you keep all the evidence of your break up with CJ’s mom?”

Jake clears his throat awkwardly, and she thinks she’s asked the worst question in the world before he even answers her.

“Uh, yeah I’ve got – I’ve got a folder of stuff but that’s because, uh CJ’s mom died.”

He’s not looking at her when he says it, and he rubs the back of his neck like he’s nervous. Amy coughs, splutters, chokes on the gasp of air she inhaled when the word _died_ left his lips. And then she can’t stop _coughing_ , and it’s so embarrassing and they’re supposed to go the _White House tomorrow_.

Jake laughs quietly, and offers her the beer bottle. Amy thinks it probably won’t do as good a job as water, but she sips it gratefully anyway. The coughing having stopped, she puts her hand on his arm and says as sincerely as she can “ _God, I am so sorry_.”

“Not your fault,” he grimaces, “At least I don’t think it is. Have you ever hit someone with your car?”

“Never,” Amy says solemnly, “Scouts honour.”

“Of course she’s a Scout,” Jake mumbles, more to himself than to her. And then: “That’s good because CJ’s got enough issues without me having drinks with her mother’s murderer.”

“She’s a good kid,” Amy tells him quietly, because she thinks he needs to hear that right now.

“She’s a sad kid, but yeah…” he taps a rhythm against his beer bottle ( _she thinks it sounds like a Salt-n-Pepa song)_ “she’s good.”

There is quiet between them for a moment, and the barman puts _Bjork_ on the CD player, and in a far corner of Amy’s mind she’s nineteen in college yelling at her roommate to _turn that warbling off for God’s sake_.

“How old was she?” Amy asks after a while, mostly because she’s curious and she thinks – _hopes_ – he’ll be okay with answering her questions.

“Thirty eight – oh wait you mean Cee? Uh, she was thirteen months. And a day.”

“ _God_ , she was a _baby_.”

“Yup. It was a hit-and-run, no witnesses. I think that’s the suckiest thing, that I’m never gonna get to find out who did it.”

“I can imagine,” Amy says gently, “And the police are-?”

“Yeah, there’s…nothing. And it sucked and it still sucks and I don’t think it ever will stop sucking.” He doesn’t sound angry, just sad. Amy knows the same sort of ache he carries in his chest ( _her grandmother when she was eleven, her grandfather when she was fifteen, her father when she was twenty one_ ) but she can’t imagine what it must be like to lose the mother of _your child_. It seems such a heavy weight.

“What was she like? Sorry for all the questions.”

“Sorry for treating this like a therapy session – uh, her name was Sophia and she was the coolest woman in the world, probably. She was hilarious, she could drink me under the freaking _table_. She let me name our daughter _Crash_. She was smart as hell, beat me at Guitar Hero every time…” He trails off.

“She sounds awesome. I’m sad I never got to meet her.”

“She’d have loved you,” Jake tells her, and it feels like something softening, “She was very organised for someone who was also very messy.”

“We could’ve compared binders…” Amy says warmly, and Jake laughs. He finishes his beer and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Amy is only a little grossed out.

“Wow, after all that emotion I’m beat,” Jake says, “Apparently I’m sharing a room with this Charles guy?

“That means I’m sharing with Gina.”

“Ooh good luck with that. See you in the morning?”

“See you in the morning.”

He hops off the stool and starts to walk towards the elevator when Amy calls after him. “Wait, aren’t we going to the same floor?”

He turns. “Right. Yeah. We should…y’know, the lift, same time. Yeah.”

Amy slips off the stool and they walk together, not looking at each other but shoulders brushing all the same.

 

* * *

 

The walk down to rooms 3015 and 3016 is silent and wine (or beer, in Jake’s case) heavy. Amy thinks she’s never seen so much of anyone before – grief is weird and deeply personal and she can’t think of anyone outside of her immediate family she’s ever talked to about it, despite the amount of funerals she’s been to.

“Well,” Jake says, gesturing to the door, “this is me.”

“And this is me,” she says. They both laugh, even though there’s nothing really funny about the situation.

They swipe their key cards at exactly the same time. Amy’s room is pitch black, both beds are made and she’s just wondering where Gina is when Jake lets out a high pitched scream, and two more voices yell “CLOSE THE DAMN DOOR!”

He raps on her bedroom door and she opens it quickly.

“You don’t wanna know what I just saw,” he says, “Charles and Gina…I…I – God, _there are children sleeping next door! Children!_ ”

Amy wordlessly steps aside and lets him in to her room. She can overthink about how inappropriate they’re being later.

 

* * *

 

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Jake volunteers immediately. Amy closes her eyes and leans against the door.

“I’ll sleep on the chair,” she says. She’s polite and appropriate, but she’s not heartless.

“I’ll take the floor, you take the chair, that way neither of us sleep on the bed? Fair’s fair.”

“Those pillows look so soft…” Amy says longingly. Jake crosses the room to the bed in about three strides (it’s like he _bounces_ , how is anyone so _light_?) and throws one at her.

“They don’t have to stay _on_ the bed, you dummy,” for some reason, he calls her dummy softly, like it’s a term of endearment. Amy smiles slightly, and catches the pillow deftly.

“Wow were you a footballer in high school or something? Those are some hands.”

“Got seven brothers,” she says, and then attempts to adopt her eldest brother’s gruff voice, “Think fast Ames!”

“Ames,” Jake laughs a little, “cute.”

The back of Amy’s neck is burning, and for the first time in a long time (in her life?) it’s not from embarrassment.

“I’m going to use the bathroom now,” she says in what she thinks is a decisive way but actually is two pitches higher than usual.

* * *

The chair is adequately comfortable until about half past three in the morning, when Amy becomes aware of a crick in her neck. She shuffles uncomfortably, and then –

“Amy?”

“Jake?”

“I have a crick in my neck.”

“Same.” She pauses. It’s half past three in the morning. They’re going to the White House in the morning. “We’re both mature responsible adults right?”

“Ha. Yeah. And to think, just this morning you were calling me a child.”

“It’s been a long day,” she whispers. “Bed?”

Jake laughs in the darkness, and Amy’s neck is burning again. “Ms Santiago, are you trying to seduce me?”

“You know that’s actually the wrong line,” Amy tells him as she practically falls out of the armchair, “it’s actually ‘Mrs Robinson, you’re trying to seduce me, aren’t you?’”

Jake falls onto the pillow next to her with a soft thud. “Fun fact. Sleep now!” he says, and Amy does.

 

* * *

 

Mia is looking at her strangely on the coach to the White House.

“Have I got something on my face?” she asks her daughter. Behind her, she can hear CJ and Jake rapping _Jump Around_ , and Gina snoring.

“Yeah.”

She pulls out a tissue from her handbag and starts scrubbing, _mortally_ embarrassed by the prospect of even the remotest possibility of seeing Barack Obama with _breakfast on her face_.

“A smile, that’s what’s on your face” Mia says suddenly, “you’re smiling. A lot.”

Amy drops the tissue and only panics about littering for a second. Mia picks it up, and looks at her expectantly. From the corner of her eye she can see Jake pulling a stupid face and making CJ crack up laughing.

“I don’t know,” she says softly, “I guess I’m just happy to be here.”

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I Cannot Believe I Am The Person Who Put """Platonic""" Bedsharing In Two Chapters Back to Back. Secondly, I just realised this means there's only one prompt left and I'm kind of really gutted about that? Thirdly, CJ's sleeping arrangements have been taken Directly Out of my Actual Life as a Baby. Shout out to my parents for never squishing me in their sleep. Also I did not follow the prompt but I really like the ending so sue me I guess? I feel like I normally have the balance between friends/fancying each other down but in this chapter it's like? weird? I think it's because I wrote the first half of this way back in December and have only just finished it? Who knows!!!!! Who knows!! Anywa y

**JAKE, CJ, AND AMY'S PORCELAIN FIGURINES**

**“you’ve been sleeping at mine because your house is being renovated and we aren’t even dating, yet every time you wake up to the baby crying and sigh “I’ll go” I feel like we might as well be married"**

* * *

 

Jake turns up to work at quarter to ten, soaked from head to toe with CJ strapped to his chest in one of those baby carrier things the hipster dads, that Amy sees every morning on her commute, love so much.

“A pipe burst,” he offers as an explanation, “my mom’s in San Francisco.”

“I’ll take Cee,” Amy says immediately, getting up from her desk, “You go change.”

“Are you sure-?” Terry begins to say, but Jake looks at him like _not now, please,_ and he falls silent.

“How is this baby so dry?” Amy asks no one in particular as she balances CJ on her hip.

Jake, half way on his way to the evidence lock up to look for some clothes, yells “I used my body as a human shield to protect her from the water!” over his shoulder.

CJ gurgles merrily and strokes Amy’s face with a chubby fist.

 

* * *

 

It is half past eleven when Holt realises that Jake is working at his desk dressed in a dead man’s dungarees with his daughter strapped to his chest.

“Peralta! My office! Now!”

Amy grimaces in solidarity. “Good luck man.”

 

* * *

 

“A police precinct is not an appropriate place for a baby,” Holt begins before Jake’s even shut his office door, “I don’t think I need to tell you that.”

The way Jake sees it he’s got two choices here. The first is that he tells the captain straight up what happened, like he did to the rest of the squad, and that the Captain tells him to call a plumber and the emergency day care place and that’s the end of that. The second – and the option Jake has pretty much taken his whole life – is to make a joke out of it.

“But she’s a morale booster! Rosa went out and collared the Stanley Street mugger because she couldn’t stay here and listen to me singing Wheels on the Bus!”

“A police precinct,” Holt says again, “is not…an appropriate place for a baby.”

“But she’s so cute! Look how cute she is!” He waves one of her fists, and puts on a baby voice. “Hi Grandpa! Hi Grandpa! Let me stay, I’m so cute!”

“ _Detective Peralta_.”

“ _Fine_ ,” he drops CJ’s hand, exhales hard through his nose, “If you must know, sir…she’s been helping me solve cases. She’s a genius, she cracked the Larson murder.”

The captain rests his elbows on the desk and makes a steeple with his fingers, which is a sure sign that Jake has lost the argument. “ _Why_ ,” he asks, “is Crash Jacintha…not at home?”

Jake really doesn’t want to be having this conversation. Firstly, because it is admitting defeat, in a way, and that is something he has never been good at, and secondly, because whilst it’s not his _worst_ fear, Holt thinking he’s not a good father is up there in his Top Ten Worst Fears – maybe like, number four, _after_ beehives but _before_ CJ getting bitten by a rattlesnake. But CJ is grumbling against his chest, and he’s got _so much_ work to do -

“A pipe burst in my apartment,” he mumbles, “and my mom, who normally watches Cee whilst I’m at work, is in San Francisco.”

Holt nods very slowly, and sits back in his chair.

“Have you called a plumber?”

“Yeah, he can’t get there till next Thursday, and I can’t really afford-”

“And is there no emergency day-care you can take her to?”

Jake sets his jaw. “I – tried, but she’s so little, Captain, look how little she is, she’s not ready!”

“A police precinct is not an appropriate place for a baby,” Holt repeats, and Jake nods.

“I understand that, sir but-”

“But I am aware of your…situation. You must take the day off.”

“But _sir_ , I have so many-”

“Detective Peralta, a _police precinct_ is not an appropriate place for a baby!” Holt snaps.

The baby, Jake’s baby, starts to cry.

“C’mon Cee,” Jake mumbles, grabbing hold of her hand. She does not stop crying.

“Sir, can you – can you wave one of the flags or something, just to distract her?”

Wordlessly, Holt picks up on of the rainbow flags he keeps in his pen pot and waves it.

“Here,” he says in perfect monotone, “Here, Crash Jacintha. Look at the flag.”

CJ does, big brown eyes fixed on the way Holt’s hand moves from side to side. She reaches out a hand, and Jake moves forward so she doesn’t fall, and she rips the flag from Holt’s grasp. And promptly shoves it in her mouth.

“Oh no….” Holt says, “Crash Jacintha, please do not – slobber on my flag.”

Jake does his best to extract the flag from CJ’s grip. “Hey-y-y bud, that’s not edible! And it’s pointy!” And then, to Holt, “She’s cute though, right?”

The captain shifts in his chair, and holds out a hand to take the flag. “She is…adorable.”

Jake looks rather proud of himself. “She came out of my body,” he says, a little smugly.

“Yes, I am aware of how human reproduction works,” Captain Holt says dryly. “Now, detective, if you’ll excuse me, I have important police work to attend to. Take your daughter home.”

“That’s gonna be hard seeing as my home currently has no ceiling but if you would point me in the direction of your spare keys, Cee and I would just love to spend the day at Chez Holt. That’s French, ‘cos I’m fancy.”

Jake might be seeing things, but he swears he sees Holt’s eyelid flicker, like this whole situation is causing him to have an aneurysm. He wants to say “ _you and me both buddy_ ” but that feels a little inappropriate.

 

* * *

 

“So,” he tells the squad in the briefing room, “the good news is that Holt is not immune to my daughter’s chubby cheeks, which means either his software has been upgraded or he really is human. The bad news is I – we, need somewhere to crash til Thursday.”

“Why can’t you stay at Karen’s? Did she burn down the kitchen again?” asks Gina, not even looking up from her phone.

“Too far to commute, but I appreciate the suggestion – Boyle?”

Boyle looks like all his Christmases have come early. “Oh Jakey! I’d be _honoured_ to house you and CJ! It’ll be like my favourite movie!”

“Your favourite movie is Ratatouille, Charles.” Jake points out.

“Yes, and I will be making us ratatouille for dinner!”

“Charles has dogs.” Rosa says sharply, “They’ll eat CJ.”

“Jason would _never_ -” Charles protests, but Rosa interrupts.

“Why don’t you stay with Terry?” she turns to the Sarge, “Your house is already full of baby crap. You won’t even notice he’s there.”

Terry shifts in his seat. “I wish I could help, man, but Sharon’s mom’s staying and we haven’t got the room. I’m sorry.”

At this point, Jake’s panicking a little. He’s on a tight schedule here, because Holt’s watching from his office and CJ is asleep in Amy’s arms, and in a moment she’ll wake up and start crying and he’ll have to leave and he won’t have anywhere to go.

“It’s alright, Sarge. Gina?”

Gina has lined up five bottles of nail varnish on the table, and is painting one fingernail each a different colour. She glances up at him. “And come home to all my stuff being covered in baby poop? I mean I love ya kiddo but not that much.”

“She doesn’t even poop that much!”

“It’s not happening.”

Jake inhales deeply, runs a hand through his hair and turns to Rosa.

“No,” she says before he can open his mouth, “Santiago, you’re up.”

And then she turns on her heel and leaves.

Amy shifts the baby in her arms. CJ doesn’t wake, and then Amy says in a very quiet voice “ _Fine, but if you make a mess, you clear it up. And I won’t have my porcelain figures tampered with_.”

“Santiago,” Jake says only semi-jokingly, “I love you with my entire heart. Can I have your keys?”

“You can have the spare,” she hands CJ to him, “they’re under the mat.”

“Of course they are,” he says warmly. “See you at home, sweetie!”

“Don’t make me regret this!” she calls after him.

 

* * *

 

Amy spends the rest of the day doing paperwork and feeling anxiety build up in the pit of her stomach. Jake Peralta is in her apartment, in her home, right now, doing God knows what. She’s seen her brothers’ places when they had babies – the stains! The mess! It was giving her an ulcer just thinking about it.

She calls him on her lunch break.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, “CJ’s asleep on my chest, so please be quiet.”

“Oh. Right,” she lowers her voice, “So what have you been doing all day?”

“Watching _The Wire_ with the subtitles on. Your Netflix is recommending me fancy period dramas, something you want to tell me?”

She sighs. “Yes, I enjoy Austen adaptations, sue me. _The Wire_ is not suitable television for a baby!”

“She’s not been looking at the screen,” Jake says defensively, “she’s having way too much fun pulling your porcelain figurines off the shelves.”

“ _Jake_ ,” she hisses, “ _I swear to God_ -”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. She’s got like, rattles and stuff, she’s okay; your porcelain figures are okay.”

Amy rests her head in the hand that’s not holding the phone to her ear. “Alright. Please don’t break anything. I’ll be home at six.”

“Looking forward to it!” Jake says cheerily, and then he hangs up.

Amy glances across the room and sees Terry, on his phone. “I’ll be back by six to put the babies to bed,” he says.

It’s an echo of what she said to Jake, and she doesn’t like to think about what that means.

 

* * *

 

A B&E gets reported ten minutes before she’s due to clock off, and then when she finally gets free of that, there’s a smelly guy on the subway whose armpit she has to stand under all the way home. She’s almost forgotten about what’s waiting for her as she turns the key in the lock and –

“AMY! YOU’RE HOME!” Jake cheers, “I made pasta!”

“I didn’t even know I had stuff for pasta in the house,” Amy replies, a little more grumpily than she intended.

“We went shopping. Your bodega guy was _so nice_ , he offered to watch Cee tonight if we wanted to _be alone_ ,” Jake waggles his eyebrows, and Amy’s unsure whether she wants to groan in frustration or laugh. She opts for a mixture of both.

“God, what did you tell him?”

“I said we were partners, and I think he got confused. He just loved you, didn’t he Cee?”

CJ, sat in a high chair, gurgles happily.

“Where’d you get the high chair from?”

“Magic. I’m kidding, your neighbour – Sara? – loaned it to me. Everyone in your area is super nice, way nicer than where I live. I should move here.”

Amy is too tired to argue with him. She throws her bag down and kicks off her shoes, and sinks into the couch.

“Dinner is served, milady,” Jake passes her a plate. It is surprisingly good, considering it was cooked by a man who makes breakfast burritos out of gummy worms.

They sit in silence for a while, Jake feeding CJ at the breakfast bar, and Amy eating her pasta on the couch. Sometimes Jake says something quietly to the baby, about an aeroplane or a train or something, and Amy glances over to see him making the spoon do loop-the-loops. It makes her chest ache, a little.

When they’ve finished eating, Jake brings CJ over to the couch. She clambers onto Amy’s lap and wraps her chubby arms around her neck.

“What’s that for?” Amy laughs. Jake flops down next to them.

“She’s grateful for you letting her have a bed that’s not drenched in gross boiler water.”

Amy places a steadying hand on CJ’s back ( _kids, she’s useless with, but babies she can do_ ) and turns her head to face Jake.

“Have you lost everything?” she says sadly. He shakes his head.

“Nah, it’s salvageable – a fancy word I learnt reading the dictionary you have on your bedside table bee-tee-dubs – it’s just, y’know, sucky.”

“Super sucky,” she hums in agreement, “What do you think, Cee?”

“Da-da-da!” CJ says into Amy’s neck.

“That’s Amy, but we appreciate those are the only sounds you know how to make at the moment, kiddo,” Jake says, “Bath time now? I’m worried you’re making our hostess’ neck all sticky.”

“You know I once had a perp vomit in my hair?” Amy says conversationally, as Jake extracts the baby from her arms. Jake laughs.

“Oh, she’s done that too.”

“Also I don’t have a bath tub, but I-”

“It’s cool, I filled the sink. Old school stylez.”

Amy sinks back into the cushions. “Don’t put the garbage disposal on.”

“Don’t even joke about that Santiago. And I brought you wine, by the way. It’s on the side, by your mouldy bread. Seriously what is even growing on that?”

Amy laughs, and covers her face with her hands. It’s not, surprisingly, out of embarrassment, but for comedic effect. Something about Jake like this, in his soft civilian clothes with his soft, sweet baby in his arms, makes Amy want to cry. It’s like a song, she thinks, and then laughs at herself. It’s a Monday, Amy, there’s no romance in the world on a Monday.

 

* * *

 

“So where’s she gonna sleep?” Amy asks in her trademark Santiago practical way when Jake brings CJ, clean and in pyjamas, over to the couch again.

“Well – I mean, she doesn’t actually have a crib, she just sleeps next to me ‘cos that way I can get her quickly when she’s crying, and cribs take up a lot of space and I was actually really worried for a while that I was going to squish her but it’s been a year and she’s been fine, but if you want her to sleep in like a box or something, I got-”

“Jake,” she says, deadly serious, “it’s fine. She can sleep in our-” _for God’s sake, Santiago, Freudian slip much_? “my, my bed, she can just sleep in the middle, it’s fine, I’ll take the couch, it’s-”

Jake blinks at her, eyes wide, and she’s worried she’s ruined it.

“You know, like, it’s totally up to you but it wouldn’t be the first time we’d shared a bed.”

And he smiles at her, and she knows. It could never be ruined.

“Newark,” she says, the word alone an explanation, “You stole the covers and made me drink orange soda for breakfast.”

“Incorrect, _you_ kicked the covers off yourself and I _bought you the gift of Orangina_ , for breakfast.”

She snorts. “We caught the bad guys though.”

“That we did. Ronald and Wendy Glockenspiel were two of the greatest covers in my career.”

“Ah, the Glockenspiels. Childhood sweethearts who eloped at sixteen and moved to New Jersey to raise their-”

“Fragile and highly strung cocker spaniel named Ernest,” Jake finishes for her. He’s beaming, and CJ’s asleep in his arms.

“I won’t steal the covers this time,” she promises, and he nods gravely.

“If you change your mind, we’ll hit your couch, it’s fine. It’s super comfy for something from the 1870’s.”

“Goodnight CJ,” Amy says pointedly.

He laughs, and turns down the hall toward her bedroom and the ache in her chest is back.

 

* * *

 

It is not weird when she slips in after the news at ten, because he’s asleep and like he said, it’s not the first time. Amy’s super paranoid about squashing CJ but she’s tucked into Jake’s side like it’s the safest place in the world, and Amy’s never punched anyone in her sleep or anything (that she knows of), so they should be okay.

She’s asleep before her head hits the pillow.

 

* * *

 

CJ begins to whimper at twenty past one, and Amy opens one eye to watch Jake scoop the baby up, and listens as he hums, surprisingly on-key ( _he is always surprising her, and making her laugh)_ what she thinks is a Simon and Garfunkel song.

“America?” she mumbles, and he doesn’t even glance over. His eyes are still closed.

“Homeward Bound.”

They fall into silence, CJ still awake.

Amy thinks that this is what they’re talking about, when they talk about love.

“I hope that being married feels like this,” she whispers, because it’s twenty past one in the morning and home is where your love lies waiting silently for you.

Jake opens his eyes very slowly. “I think it could be,” he says quietly, “I hope it could be.”

Perhaps there is no romance in the world on a Monday, but there is sometimes some in the early hours of a Tuesday morning.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now... the end is near...and so i've reached...the final curtain...yeah so here we are. the last prompt! this is so wild to me, i don't think i have ever finished a writing project in my LIFE!!! when i started this fic i was like, very miserable and unemployed and it's OVER A YEAR LATER and i've just started uni and i'm not miserable anymore!!! dope!   
> this fic would NOT HAVE BEEN FINISHED if it had not been for the wonderful philthestone, who might just be the best person on this whole planet. and of course the whole thing was started by lucy. shout out to lucy.   
> once again i did not follow the prompt to the letter but when have i ever? i have loved writing this universe (these universes?) SO MUCH and it makes me so happy that other people have enjoyed the exploits of jake, amy, CJ, max and mia too!!!! once i was rewatching the bet and i was like what is jake DOING where is CJ, and then i remembered. so that's how Into this universe i was. if ur reading this i thank u from the bottom of my heart and also i love u probably. i also have absolutely no idea how parent-teacher conferences work in the US. i made all this up. oh! and! the vulture is in this chapter so like, trigger warning for grossness? once again, thank u i love u, have a great day/night!!!

**JAKE, CJ, AMY, MAX & THE VULTURE**

* * *

 

“our children are in the same class and we both hate their teacher, eventually the parents’ evenings are just us competing who can call out snarkier comments”

* * *

 

“I’m in Mr freaking _Pembroke’s_ class for History again,” Max grumbles. Amy pauses from plating up the macaroni cheese (the only meal she has never ruined) and pulls a face.

“Ugh, the Vulture? Again?! I hate that guy!”

“Right?”

“Can’t you get transferred? I hear – can you get the cutlery? – I hear Mr Costner’s coming out of retirement to teach a couple of classes.”

“Cee already asked, it clashes with Math.”

“And we love math,” Amy says, placing the plate in front of her son.

“And we love math,” Max agrees, “how much salt did you put in this, by the way?”

“None…was there supposed to be salt in this? Don’t make me doubt my mac and cheese ability, Maxwell!”

“It’s fine Mom, honestly,” and he took a mouthful, as if to prove his point.

“So anyway – by Cee, you mean Crash Peralta? I didn’t know you two were friends.”

“We bonded over a mutual hatred of the Vulture last spring. She’s cool. She’s in a band.”

Amy knows – one time CJ’s father hacked the PTA email account to send every parent at the school the details of his daughter’s band’s first concert. She admires that level of dedication, but can’t condone his methods.

“Yeah I heard something about that.”

“She wants to major in Art History.”

“I majored in Art History!”

“I know,” Max says, laughing, “I told her.”

“Well – do you want a drink? – she’s always welcome over for dinner.”

“I don’t know whether I want to subject her to your cooking, Ma,” Max snorts. Amy pulls a face.

“Don’t be mean! This is edible, isn’t it?”

“And tastes like cardboard!”

“You are so disrespectful,” Amy says, shaking her head.

 

* * *

 

September bleeds into October which gives way to November, and Crash Peralta does not cross the Santiago threshold – although Max attends several of her shows, and Amy waits outside in her station wagon - and the Vulture is only mentioned in passing. Max’s words are rarely laced with venom but for the few seconds he discusses his history classes with his mother, they are. Amy knows the Vulture’s type, has been dealing with them pretty much her entire life. He’s the worst kind of teacher, the kind that started teaching so that they never had to leave high school, and could carry on bullying to their hearts’ content.

The third week of November is Max’s senior year is his Last Ever First Parent Teacher Conference of the Year. Amy has a big scrapbook, full of notes and lists and all the bits of paper that are accumulated over thirteen years in the education system. The morning of, she buzzes around the kitchen, singing old Mylene Cruz songs as she packs their lunches.

“Guess what today is, baby?” she says chirpily as Max emerges from his bedroom, bleary eyed in the way that only teenagers are.

“National Pancake Day?”

“Nope!”

“Tia Rosa’s birthday?”

“Is in May, as you well know!”

“I’m playing with you, Ma,” he yawns, “It’s the first parent-teacher conference of the school year, you put little hearts around it on the calendar.”

Amy beams, and hands him his brown paper bag that has MAX! written on it, surrounded by stars.

“It’s your _last_ first parent-teacher conference of the year,” she muses, “This time next year…you’ll be on some beautiful campus somewhere in New England – ooh, or in a vibrant metropolis – honestly it’s up to you, I went to NYU ‘cos I grew up in Jersey but you might prefer somewhere quiet, y’know, you’ve lived in New York most of your life, it’s totally up to you-”

“You’re getting a little ahead of yourself there, Ma,” Max says from behind the fridge door, “We gotta survive this meeting with the Vulture first. Do we have any of that nutrient water? I have Calc today, my brain needs it.”

“Behind the milk,” Amy says, “Ugh, I forgot about the freaking Vulture! Last year he called me _Foxy_ for the whole evening. In front of other parents, too!”

“He’s gross,” Max replies grimly, “I don’t know what he has over the principal, but no amount of complaints have got him fired, it’s garbage.”

He glances up at the clock, and gently closes the fridge door (“Santiagos are not slammers!” Amy had said once when he was 15). A funny sort of sadness, the sort that’s half happiness, begins to creep into Amy’s chest. I did good, she thinks.

“On the bright side,” Max says cheerily, halfway to the front door, “Mr Costner and Mr Holt said they’re looking forward to seeing you!”

“Mr Holt said that?”

“Words to that effect, yeah.”

“What were his _exact words_?”

Max clears his throat, and then in his deepest voice “Mr Santiago, I look forward to conversing with your mother. She is very efficient.”

Amy beams. “God, nothing feels better than the approval of authority figures.”

“Weirdo,” Max laughs good-naturedly, “I gotta go. I’ll see you tonight!”

“Love you,” Amy says. She pauses where she’s stood, watching the kitchen door with a mug of coffee in hand, until she hears the front door click shut, and then she turns to watch her son go, hands jammed in his pockets. She watches the spot in the corner of the window which he disappears into for longer than she should. _I did good_ , she thinks again.

 

* * *

 

The subway’s late that evening, and Amy’s squished between a couple making out and a smelly man who sniffs constantly for the entire journey, so she’s not in the chirpiest mood when she reaches Max’s school.

He’s waiting for her outside the building, with a tiny girl who has a mane of curly blonde hair and an oversized leather jacket over her uniform.

“Ma! You didn’t get eaten by a subway rat!”

“I fought him off,” she deadpans, and then turns to the tiny girl, “Hi, I’m Amy Santiago.”

“I’m Crash,” says Crash, and shakes her hand, “Woah. Firm handshake.”

“I took a seminar,” Amy says conspiratorially.

“Neat, where?”

“Crash’s dad is saving us seats,” Max says, “Shall we?”

He loops his arm through his mother’s, and Amy feels her stress induced headache, which started when the subway didn’t show, lessen.

 

* * *

 

Crash’s dad is maybe a few years older than Amy, and is also wearing a leather jacket. She wonders if that was intentional.

“Sup,” he says, “Hey, Cee, do you have any vending machines in this super fancy school of yours? I’m snacky.”

“We literally just got pizza from Sal’s, Dad,” Crash says, sinking into the chair next to him, “And no, we don’t, we have to buy apples from the cafeteria.”

“This is so not what I pay my taxes for!”

“Well then you’re the only father in the country who thinks that there should be vending machines in a high school.”

“Take it up with Hillary,” Max suggests, sitting beside Crash.

“I’m sure President Clinton has far more important things to worry about than-” Amy begins.

“Aim lower,” Max interrupts her, “Ask Mr Holt!”

“Ray _would_ do anything for me,” Crash’s dad muses. Amy still hasn’t sat down, is stood there with her coat folded over her arm, waiting to introduce herself.

“I’m Amy Santiago by the way,” she says, a little more shrilly than she intended.

“Cool, I’m Jake.”

He doesn’t shake her hand, which is outstretched in greeting, and this grates on her nerves.

“Who do you have an appointment to see first?” Amy asks, sitting beside him.

“Did we have to make appointments? Crash, did you make appointments?”

Crash laughs. “Honestly me and dad just wing it every year. People are always late or don’t come at all, so JP just slides right into their slots.”

This does not seem to be a sustainable method of attending Parent-Teacher conferences to Amy, or indeed a sustainable method of living life full stop.

“But – for organisational purposes-”

“They don’t care as long as we don’t keep ‘em past eight.”

Amy hums disapprovingly. She wonders why Max, who inherited her organisational skills and his father’s desire for the least stressful life possible, enjoys hanging out with Crash, whose entire vibe seems to be as far from calm as possible.

They lapse into silence, and Amy digs her diary out of her bag, opens it to the page of notes she has about Max’s progress in Math.

“Oh shi-” Crash begins to exclaim, before Max digs an elbow into her side and she concludes with “ _shitake mushrooms_ , is that Gloria?!”

“Who’s Gloria?” Amy asks, but neither of them answer her, instead they crane their necks to try and see who just walked into the lobby.

“I’d recognise that jacket anywhere – HEY! LINDSAY WEIR!” Crash yells, and Jake grumbles something that sounds like _ear drums, daughter_.

The girl that might be Gloria waves enthusiastically, and Crash and Max jump to their feet.

“Yell when you need me, Mom,” Max says offhandedly, “Gloria plays drums in Crash’s band, but she ditched school last month to follow Haim on tour.”

“Apparently she hung out with three of The Strokes when they played NYC,” Crash informs her, like Amy knows who The Strokes are.

They run off, leaving Amy with Jake. He clears his throat. Amy revises her notes, and adds that she’s not concerned about Max’s progress in algebra.

“What kind of parent lets their child follow a _band_ during their senior year?” she says finally, “I mean, the summer I can kind of understand because that’s like three months of free time but-”

“I mean, Crash wanted to go but I kind of put my foot down,” Amy finds that hard to believe, “because, y’know, she can’t have fun if I’m not.” _There it is_ , she thinks, “But Gloria’s parents have different priorities I guess? Cee says during the 90s apparently both of ‘em dumped school to follow Nirvana around the world, totally separately, he was from like, Ohio, and she was from somewhere in Connecticut, anyway they don’t meet, at all, for like, literal years, and then they played some festival in the UK and they met each other in the crowd and they’ve been together ever since.”

Amy has to admit, that is _kind of_ romantic. But very irresponsible.

“Each to their own, I guess…” She muses on the story, and then asks; “What about you? How’d you meet Crash’s mom? In the mosh pit of a Pearl Jam concert?”

Jake laughs. “Pearl Jam are not really my personal jam, but neat reference. Nah, it was – I mean, we were in community college, and Bernice’s best friend was dating my friend and it just kinda…like we might as well? Anyway, when Crash was born and we tried…maybe not as hard as we could’ve, but we tried to make it work, we had an apartment, my Nana gave me her ring yada yada, but in the end, we were twenty and Bernice wasn’t ready to settle down like, _at all_. So now she lives in California with some movie producer and his six kids from previous relationships, and I am in the same apartment we moved into seventeen years ago with the greatest kid in the world. So it all works out in the end.”

The thought that Jake Peralta might not be that bad begins to bloom in Amy’s mind.

“What about you?” he asks.

“Oh it’s – it’s pretty much the same. I was in college. He was in the police academy, and I went on one of their like, taster days? Anyway we hit it off and we were – well we were engaged before Max came along, and then Max came along and – we were actually together until he was seven, and I just woke up one morning and it was like, oh. Okay. So we moved back to the city, and I enrolled in the police academy and Teddy – that’s Max’s dad – lives upstate with his new wife. She’s actually super nice, her name’s Katie.”

“I’ve never met a Katie I didn’t like,” Jake notes, and Amy nods.

“Yeah, like, I’ve met a _ton_ of Elizabeths I’ve hated, but never a Katie.”

“Right?! What is up with that?”

“I’ve never met a Crash before,” Amy says.

“That’s what I was going for! Totally unique name, my friend Gina has some job in government, and she researched it – there’s not a single other person called Crash in the Tri-State area, and I’ll bet, the whole of the U.S of A.”

“I’ll bet,” Amy agrees. His initial brusqueness has faded now, and Amy thinks she’s never met a warmer person.

It is at that moment that Mr. Pembroke yells “ _FOXY SANTIAGO!_ YOU WANNA TALK ABOUT YOUR KID!”

“I want to die,” Amy says briskly, and then yells “MAXIMILLAN!”

“Good luck,” Jake says, “If you murder him I’m pretty sure every person in this building right now would defend you and say it was an accident.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” she replies warmly, as Max jogs over.

“Hey Ma! Man, Gloria’s got some _wild_ stories, she met _Julian Casablancas_! Can you believe that? And apparently Stevie Nicks-”

“Your history teacher’s ready for us,” Amy says calmly, although the anxiety has travelled from the pit of her stomach to the centre of her lungs. Max sighs.

“Lord give me strength.”

“Amen.”

The Vulture yells again, and Amy turns to greet him, her fakest smile on her face.

“Damn Mrs Santiago,” the Vulture says as she takes a seat, “You get hotter every year – I mean, for a mom that is.”

“It’s _Ms_ Santiago, I’m not married.”

“Huh. You must need a man about the house then, right?”

“Not particularly. How’s Max’s progress?”

“Well, you know, he tries hard – immigrant kids always do, probably tryna prove themselves-”

She hates the way he says _immigrant_ , like it’s a damn slur.

“Max was born in New Jersey,” Amy says, even though she knows he’s not worth her time. Max shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“Yeah right, that’s what they all say,” the Vulture scoffs, and Amy imagines herself smacking him round the face _hard_ , with her handbag.

“Whatever – yeah, he’s a know-it-all. I think he thinks he’d do a better job than me at teaching the class.” The Vulture cackles.

Amy, smile still perfectly in place, laughs politely and says “Yes I’m sure that’s true.”

The Vulture stops laughing. “What? Right. Yeah. Maintaining his GPA. College. Blah blah blah – hey when this finishes d’you wanna get drinks?”

“No.”

“C’mon, I’m a nice guy. I haven’t got chlamydia anymore! Kid could do with a strong male influence in his life, word on the street is he’s a pussy – no offence kid.”

Amy feels like she might vomit. He’s still rambling about Max’s masculinity – or lack of – as she glances round, catches Jake’s eye. She pulls a face, and he points to the Vulture. She nods, and Jake gets to his feet.

“You know, our kids would be a beautiful-” the Vulture was saying. Jake, with a careful casualness, stops by the desk.

“Hey,” he interrupts the Vulture, “Don’t I know you?”

“I’ve been teaching your daughter History for like three years, ya.”

“No, from like, the music scene you know?” Jake strokes his chin thoughtfully, and Amy stifles a laugh. “Oh man – are you the lead singer of Horny For Hell?”

The Vulture splutters, and then grins. “Yeah, man, yeah, when d’you see us?”

“I think it must’ve been in some really cool bar.”

“We played Hooters over the summer!” the Vulture says, and Amy has to physically bite her lip to stop herself laughing. Crash, sat behind them, is crying with laughter.

“Of course you did,” Jake says, “Anyway – uh, are you finished here?”

“What? Yeah, yeah. I’m getting nothing out of Stick Up Her But-tiago here, so yeah.”

“Cool.” Jake says, completely insincerely, “See you later.”

Amy and Max jump up, and follow Jake back to their seats. It is only there that Amy allows herself to laugh, almost hysterically.

“How did you know he’s in a band, man?” Max asks, “That was such a dope move!”

“Why thank you, young sir. They played a Battle of the Bands Crash was in a couple of weeks ago, and the bassist hit on her.”

“It was so gross. Dad may or may not have punched him in the face.”

Amy feels like she _could_ express concern at this, but it actually just endears Jake Peralta to her more.

“Thank you so much.”

“No problem. Honestly. Sorry for swearing but, fuck that guy.”

“Amen,” Amy says earnestly.

She thinks about how she hasn’t laughed like that in years.

“What are you doing after this?” she asks quickly, “Like, both of you.”

“Honestly? Getting Chinese,”

“I thought you already ate?” Max interjects. Crash shrugs.

“Peraltas are always hungry – yeah, so Chinese and watching _The Great British Bake Off_ ,” Crash informs her.

“Max and I love that show!” Amy beams.

“Do you love Chinese food too?”

“We love all food,” Max says seriously.

“Cool,” Jake says like it’s completely settled, “All four of us’ll get Chinese and watch _The Great British Bake Off_.”

“Cool,” Amy echoes.

The more she thinks about it, the cooler it sounds.


End file.
